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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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>ECORATED BY WILL H.LOW 





HIPT[F^®^l?^^UCfWK11 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
Chap. Copyright No. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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" Ay, now am I in Arden ; the more fool I. 



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64<;:J2 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 



TO 

FRANK J. HECKER, ESQ. 

¥ 
A book of Shakespeare's time was not 
complete without an inscription to a 
noble patron of the arts and letters* 
This little book has slight resemblance 
to the ponderous folios of the Eliza- 
bethan period, but it still remains a 
pleasant custom of the book-maker to 
place the name of a friend on a dedica- 
tory page. Following this good custom 
permit me to place your name here and 
inscribe to you my work in this book. 

October, 1899 "WlLL H. LOW 









mi 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 

DUKE, living in banishment, 

FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his do- 
minions, 

TAOUES ' I ^ or ^ s a ^ en ^ n 9 on ti e banished Duke, 
LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick, 
CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick, 

Oliver, J 

JAQUES, r sons of Sir Rowland de Boys, 

Orlando,^ 

t-v^,™ ' c servants to Oliver, 

Dennis, j 

Touchstone, a down. 

Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar, 

<T ORIN ' I shepherds, 

Sylvius, i 

WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey, 
A person representing Hymen. 
ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke, 
CELLA, daughter to Frederick, 
PHEBE, a shepherdess, 
AUDREY, a country wench. 

Lords, pages, and attendants, &c 

SCENE: Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court ; 
and the Forest of Arden, 




Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, 






Orlando* As I remember, Adam, it was 
upon this fashion : bequeathed me by will 
but a poor thousand crowns, and, as thou 
sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, 
to breed me well: and there begins my 
sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at 
school, and report speaks goldenly of his 
profit : for my part, he keeps me rusti- 
cally at home, or, to speak more prop- 
erly, stays me here at home unkept ; for call 
you that keeping for a gentleman of my 
birth, that differs not from the stalling of 
an ox ? His horses are bred better ; for, 






*/ .1. • 



besides that they are fair with their feeding, 
they are taught their manage, and to that 
end riders dearly hired ; but I, his brother, 
gain nothing under him but growth; for 
the which his animals on his dunghills are 
as much bound to him as I. Besides this 
nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the 
something that nature gave me his counte- 
nance seems to take from me: he lets me 
feed with his hinds, bars me the place of 
a brother, and, as much as in him lies, 
mines my gentility with my education. 
This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the 
spirit of my father, which I think is within 
me, begins to mutiny against this servitude : 
I will no longer endure it, though yet I 
know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 
Adam. Yonder comes my master, your 
brother. 

Orlando* Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt 
hear how he will shake me up. 
Enter OLIVER. 

Oliver. Now, sir! what make you here? 
Orlando* Nothing: I am not taught to 
make any thing. 

Oliver. What mar you then, sir ? 
Orlando. Marry, sir, I am helping you to 
mar that which God made, a poor un- 
worthy brother of yours, with idleness. 
Oliver. Marry, sir, be better employed, 
and be naught awhile. 
Orlando. Shall I keep your hogs and eat 
husks with them ? What prodigal portion 






have I spent, that I should come to such 
penury ? 

Oliver* Know you where you are, sir ? 
Orlando* O, sir, very well ; here in your 
orchard. 

Oliver* Know you before whom, sir? 
Orlando* Ay, better than him I am before 
knows me. I know you are my eldest 
brother; and, in the gentle condition of 
blood, you should so know me. The 
courtsey of nations allows you my better, 
in that you are the first-born; but the 
same tradition takes not away my blood, 
were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I 
have as much of my father in me as 
you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before 
me is nearer to his reverence. 
Oliver* What, boy ! 

Orlando* Come, come, elder brother, you 
are too young in this. 

Oliver* Wilt thou lay hands on me, 
villain ? 

Orlando* I am no villain; I am the 
youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; 
he was my father, and he is thrice a 
villain that says such a father begot vil- 
lains. Wert thou not my brother, I would 
not take this hand from thy throat till 
this other had pulled out thy tongue for 
saying so: thou has railed on thysetf. 
Adam* Sweet masters, be patient: for 
your father's remembrance, be at accord. 
Oliver* Let me go, I say. 

3 



Orlando* I will not, till I please : you shall 
hear me. My father charged you in his 
will to give me good education : you have 
trained me like a peasant, obscuring and 
hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. 
The spirit of my father grows strong in 
me, and I will no longer endure it : there- 
fore allow me such exercises as may be- 
come a gentleman, or give me the poor 
allottery my father left me by testament; 
with that I will go buy my fortunes. 
Oliver* And what wilt thou do? beg, 
when that is spent ? Well, sir, get you in : 
I will not long be troubled with you ; you 
shall have some part of your will : I pray 
you, leave me. 

Orlando* I will no further offend you than 
becomes me for my good. 
Oliver* Get you with him, you old 
dog. 

Adam* Is * old dog ' my reward ? Most 
true, I have lost my teeth in your service. 
God be with my old master ! he would not 
have spoke such a word. 

Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM* 
Oliver* Is it even so ? begin you to grow 
upon me? I will physic your rankness, 
and yet give no thousand crowns neither. 
Holla, Dennis ! 
Enter DENNIS. 
Dennis* Calls your worship ? 
Oliver* Was not Charles, the Duke's 
wrestler, here to speak with me ? 

4 



SBPs 






Dennis* So please you, he is here at the 
door and importunes access to you. 
Oliver* Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.] 
'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow 
the wrestling is. 
Enter CHARLES. 

Charles* Good morrow to your worship. 
Oliver* Good Monsieur Charles, what's 
the new news at the new court ? 
Charles* There 's no news at the court, sir, 
but the old news : that is, the old Duke is 
banished by his younger brother the new 
Duke ; and three or four loving lords have 
put themselves into voluntary exile with 
him, whose lands and revenues enrich the 
new Duke ; therefore he gives them good 
leave to wander. 

Oliver* Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's 
daughter, be banished with her father ? 
Charles* O, no ; for the Duke's daughter, 
her cousin, so loves her, being ever from 
their cradles bred together, that she would 
have followed her exile, or have died to 
stay behind her. She is at the court, and 
no less beloved of her uncle than his own 
daughter; and never two ladies loved as 
they do. 

Oliver* Where will the old Duke live ? 
Charles* They say he is already in the 
forest of Arden, and a many merry men 
with him; and there they live like the old 
Robin Hood of England : they say many 
young gentlemen flock to him every day, 



and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in 
the golden world. 

Oliver. What, you wrestle to-morrow be- 
fore the new Duke ? 

Charles. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to 
acquaint you with a matter. I am given, 
sir, secretly to understand that your younger 
brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come 
in disguised against me to try a fall. To- 
morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and 
he that escapes me without some broken 
limb shall acquit him well. Your brother 
is but young and tender; and, for your 
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I 
must, for my own honour, if he come in : 
therefore, out of my love to you, I came 
hither to acquaint you withal; that either 
you might stay him from his intendment, 
or brook such disgrace well as he shall run 
into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, 
and altogether against my will. 
Oliver. Charles, I thank thee for thy love 
to me, which thou shalt find I will most 
kindly requite. I had myself notice of my 
brother's purpose herein, and have by un- 
derhand means laboured to dissuade him 
from it, but he is resolute. 1 11 tell thee, 
Charles : — it is the stubbornest young fel- 
low of France ; full of ambition, an envious 
emulator of every man's good parts, a 
secret and villanous contriver against me 
his natural brother : therefore use thy dis- 
cretion; I had as lief thou didst break his 
6 



M 



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nu.i 



neck as his finger. And thou wert best 
look to 't ; for if thou dost him any slight 
disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace him- 
self on thee, he will practise against thee 
by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous 
device, and never leave thee till he hath 
ta'en thy life by some indirect means or 
other ; for, I assure thee, and almost with 
tears I speak it, there is not one so young 
and so villanous this day living. I speak 
but brotherly of him ; but should I anato- 
mize him to thee as he is, I must blush and 
weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. 
Charles* I am heartily glad I came hither 
to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give 
him his payment: if ever he go alone 
again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: 
and so, God keep your worship ! 
Oliver* Farewell, good Charles. 

Exit Charles. 

Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I 
shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I 
know not why, hates nothing more than 
he. Yet he's gentle; never schooled, and 
yet learned; full of noble device; of all 
sorts enchantingly beloved; and indeed so 
much in the heart of the world, and espe- 
cially of my own people, who best know 
him, that I am altogether misprised: but 
it shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall 
clear all : nothing remains but that I kindle 
the boy thither ; which now I '11 go about. 

Exit 

7 




.SCEME" //-LAWN BEFORE THE DUKE'S PALACE 

am 




«« 



«*S«« 



ifrtter ROSALIND and CELIA. 

Ceffa. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my 
coz, be merry. 

Rosalind. Dear Celia, I show more mirth 
than I am mistress of ; and would you yet 
I were merrier ? Unless you could teach 
me to forget a banished father, you must 
not learn me how to remember any ex- 
traordinary pleasure. 

Celia. Herein I see thou lovest me not 
with the full weight that I love thee. If my 
uncle, thy banished father, had banished 
thy uncle, the Duke my father, so thou 
hadst been still with me, I could have 
taught my love to take thy father for mine : 
so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to 
me were so righteously tempered as mine 
is to thee. 

Rosalind* Well, I will forget the condition 
of my estate, to rejoice in yours. 
Celia* You know my father hath no child 
but I, nor none is like to have : and, truly, 
when he dies, thou shalt be his heir; for 
what he hath taken away from thy father 
perforce, I will render thee again in affec- 
tion ; by mine honour, I will ; and when I 
break that oath, let me turn monster: 
therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, 

be merry. 

8 



mm 



§ 



Rosalind. From henceforth I will, coz f 
and devise sports* Let me see ; what think 
you of falling in love ? 
Celia. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport 
withal : but love no man in good earnest ; 
nor no further in sport neither, than with 
safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour 
come off again* 

Rosalind. What shall be our sport, then ? 
Celia. Let us sit and mock the good house- 
wife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts 
may henceforth be bestowed equally. 
Rosalind. I would we could do so; for 
her benefits are mightily misplaced ; and the 
bountiful blind woman doth most mistake 
in her gifts to women* 
Celia. T is true ; for those that she makes 
fair she scarce makes honest; and those 
that she makes honest she makes very ill— 
favouredly. 

Rosalind. Nay, now thou goest from 
Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune 
reigns in gifts of the world, not in the 
lineaments of Nature. 
Enter TOUCHSTONE. 
Celia. No? when Nature hath made 
a fair creature, may she not by Fortune 
fall into the fire? Though Nature hath 
given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath 
not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the 
argument ? 

Rosalind. Indeed, there is Fortune too 
hard for Nature, when Fortune makes 



1 8 



IVES 



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Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's 
wit. 

Celia. Peradventure this is not Fortune's 
work neither, but Nature's ; who perceiv- 
eth our natural wits too dull to reason of 
such goddesses, and hath sent this natural 
for our whetstone ; for always the dulness 
of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. 
How now, wit ! whither wander you ? 
Touchstone. Mistress, you must come 
away to your father. 
Celia.* Were you made the messenger ? 
Touchstone. No, by mine honour, but I 
was bid to come for you. 
Rosalind, Where learned you that oath, 
fool? 

Touchstone* Of a certain knight that 
swore by his honour they were good pan- 
cakes, and swore by his honour the mustard 
was naught ; now I '11 stand to it, the pan- 
cakes were naught and the mustard was 
good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. 
Celia* How prove you that, in the great 
heap of your knowledge ? 
Rosalind* Ay, marry, now unmuzzle 
your wisdom. 

Touchstone* Stand you both forth now : 
stroke your chins, and swear by your beards 
that I am a knave. 

Celia* By our beards, if we had them, 
thou art. 
Touchstone* By my knavery, if I had it, 

then I were ; but if you swear by that that 
jo 



im 



is not, you are not forsworn : no more was 
this knight, swearing by his honour, for he 
never had any ; or if he had, he had sworn 
it away before ever he saw those pancakes 
or that mustard. 

Celia. Prithee, who is't that thou mean- 
est? 

Touchstone. One that old Frederick, your 
father, loves. 

Celia. My father's love is enough to 
honour him : enough ! speak no more of 
him; you'll be whipped for taxation one 
of these days. 

Touchstone* The more pity, that fools 
may not speak wisely what wise men do 
foolishly. 

Celia. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for 
since the little wit that fools have was 
silenced, the little foolery that wise men 
have makes a great show. Here comes 
Monsieur Le Beau. 

Rosalind. With his mouth full of news. 
Celia,. Which he will put on us, as pigeons 
feed their young. 

Rosalind. Then shall we be news- 
crammed. 

Celia. All the better; we shall be the 
more marketable. 
Enter LE BEAU. 

Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau ; what 's the 
news? 
LeBeau. Fair princess, you have lost 

much good sport. 

u 



it^m 



fern 



Celia* Sport ! of what colour ? 

Le Beau* What colour, madam ! how 

shall I answer you ? 

Rosalind* As wit and fortune will. 

Touchstone* Or as the Destinies decrees. 

Celia* Well said: that was laid on with 

a trowel. 

Touchstone* Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 

Rosalind* Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau* You amaze me, ladies : I would 

have told you of good wrestling, which 

you have lost the sight of. 

Rosalind* Yet tell us the manner of the 

wrestling. 

Le Beau* I will tell you the beginning ; 

and, if it please your ladyships, you may 

see the end ; for the best is yet to do ; and 

here, where you are, they are coming to 

perform it. 

Celia* Well, the beginning, that is dead 

and buried. 

Le Beau* There comes an old man and 

his three sons, — 

Celia* I could match this beginning with 
an old tale. 

Le Beau* Three proper young men, of 
excellent growth and presence. 
Rosalind* With bills on their necks, ' Be 
it known unto all men by these presents/ 
Le Beau* The eldest of the three wrestled 
with Charles, the Duke's wrestler ; which 
Charles in a moment threw him, and broke 
three of his ribs, that there is little hope of 

J2 



1 



life in him : so he served the second, and 
so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor 
old man, their father, making such pitiful 
dole over them that all the beholders take 
his part with weeping. 
Rosalind* Alas ! 

Touchstone* But what is the sport, mon- 
sieur, that the ladies have lost ? 
Le Beau* Why, this that I speak of. 
Touchstone* Thus men may grow wiser 
every day: it is the first time that ever 
I heard breaking of ribs was sport for 
ladies. 

Celia* Or I, I promise thee. 
Rosalind* But is there any else longs to 
see this broken music in his sides ? is there 
yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ? Shall 
we see this wrestling, cousin ? 
Le Beau* You must, if you stay here ; for 
here is the place appointed for the wrest- 
ling, and they are ready to perform it. 
Celia* Yonder, sure, they are coming : let 
us now stay and see it. 
Flourish* Enter DUKE FREDERICK, 

Lords, Orlando, Charles, and At- 
tendants. 

Duke Frederick* Come on : since the youth 

will not be entreated, his own peril on his 

forwardness. 

Rosalind* Is yonder the man ? 

Le Beau* Even he, madam. 

Celia* Alas, he is too young ! yet he looks 

successfully. 

J3 



X 






Duke Frederick, How now, daughter and 
cousin! are you crept hither to see the 
wrestling ? 

Rosalind, Ay, my liege, so please you 
give us leave. 

Duke Frederick. You will take little delight 
in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in 
the man. In pity of the challenger's youth 
I would fain dissuade him, but he will not 
be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if 
you can move him. 

Celia* Call him hither, good Monsieur Le 
Beau. 

Duke Frederick* Do so : I '11 not be by. 
Le Beau* Monsieur the challenger, the 
princess calls for you. 
Orlando* I attend them with all respect 
and duty. 

Rosalind* Young man, have you chal- 
lenged Charles the wrestler ? 
Orlando* No, fair princess; he is the 
general challenger: I come but in, as 
others do, to try with him the strength of 
my youth. 

Celia* Young gentleman, your spirits are 
too bold for your years. You have seen 
cruel proof of this man's strength : if you 
saw yourself with your eyes, or knew 
yourself with your judgement, the fear of 
your adventure would counsel you to a 
more equal enterprise. We pray you, for 
your own sake, to embrace your own 
safety, and give over this attempt. 

J4 






It 



mm 



Jpstg 



Rosalind* Do, young sir ; your reputation 
shall not therefore be misprised: we will 
make it our suit to the Duke that the 
wrestling might not go forward. 
Orlando* I beseech you, punish me not 
with your hard thoughts ; wherein I confess 
me much guilty, to deny so fair and excel- 
lent ladies any thing. But let your fair 
eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my 
trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but 
one shamed that was never gracious; if 
killed, but one dead that is willing to be so : 
I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have 
none to lament me; the world no injury, 
for in it I have nothing : only in the world 
I fill up a place, which may be better sup- 
plied when I have made it empty. 
Rosalind* The little strength that I have, 
I would it were with you. 
Celia* And mine, to eke out hers. 
Rosalind* Fare you well : pray heaven I 
be deceived in you! 

Celia* Your heart's desires be with you ! 
Charles* Come, where is this young gallant 
that is so desirous to lie with his mother 
earth ? 

Orlando* Ready, sir ; but his will hath in 
it a more modest working. 
Duke Frederick* You shall try but one 
fall. 

Charles* No, I warrant your Grace, you 
shall not entreat him to a second, that have 
so mightily persuaded him from a first. 

15 



%*§& 






m 






Orlando. You mean to mock mc after; 

you should not have mocked me before : 

but come your ways. 

Rosalind* Now Hercules be thy speed, 

young man ! 

Celia. I would I were invisible, to catch 

the strong fellow by the leg. 

They ^wrestle, 
Rosalind* O excellent young man I 
Celia* If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, 
I can tell who should down. 

Shout Charles is thrown. 

Duke Frederick* No more, no more. 

Orlando* Yes, I beseech your Grace: I 

am not yet well breathed. 

Duke Frederick* How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau* He cannot speak, my lord. 

Duke Frederick* Bear him away. What 

is thy name, young man ? 

Orlando* Orlando, my liege; the youngest 

son of Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Duke Frederick* I would thou hadst been 

son to some man else : 
The world esteemed thy father honourable, 
But I did find him still mine enemy : 
Thou shouldst have better pleased me with 

this deed, 
Hadst thou descended from another house. 
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant 

youth : 
I would thou hadst told me of another father. 
Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, TRAIN, and 
LE BEAU. 

16 



Celia* Were I my father, coz, would I do 

this? 
Orlando* I am more proud to be Sir 

Rowland's son, 
His youngest son ; and would not change 

that calling, 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. 
Rosalind* My father loved Sir Rowland 

as his soul, 
And all the world was of my father's mind : 
Had I before known this young man his 

son, 

1 should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
Ere he should thus have ventured. 

Celia* Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him and encourage him : 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well 

deserved : 
If you do keep your promises in love 
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy. 
Rosalind* Gentleman, 

[Giving him a chain from her neckJ] 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with 

fortune, 
That could give more, but that her hand 

lacks means. 
Shall we go, coz ? 
Celia* Ay. Fare you well, fair 

gentleman. 
Orlando* Can I not say, I thank you? 

My better parts 

2 J7 



Are all thrown down, and that which here 

stands up 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. 
Rosalind. He calls us back : my pride fell 

with my fortunes ; 
I '11 ask him what he would. Did you call, 

sir? 
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 
Celia. Will you go, coz ? 

Rosalind. Have with you. Fare you well. 
Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. 
Orlando. What passion hangs these 

weights upon my tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged 

conference. 
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown 1 
Or Charles or something weaker masters 

thee. 



^ 



flm 



Re-enter LE BEAU. 

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship 

counsel you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have 

deserved 
High commendation, true applause, and 

love, 
Yet such is now the Duke's condition, 
That he misconstrues all that you have 

done. 
The Duke is humorous : what he is, indeed, 
More suits you to conceive than I to speak 

of. 

18 



&i 




"Sir, you have wrestled well, and 
overthrown more than your enemies." 




. V...J1 <■ 



v .-:^vi;.; 



i WE; 




Mm 



m 



Orlando* I thank you, sir : and, pray you, 

tell me this ; 
Which of the two was daughter of the 

Duke, 
That here was at the wrestling ? 
Le Beau* Neither his daughter, if we 

judge by manners ; 
But yet, indeed, the taller is his daughter : 
The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, 
And here detained by her usurping uncle, 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you that of late this Duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle 

niece, 
Grounded upon no other argument 
But that the people praise her for her virtues, 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you 

well: 
Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
I shall desire more love and knowledge of 

you. 
Orlando* I rest much bounden to you : 

fare you well. 

Exit Le Beau. 

Thus must I from the smoke into the 

smother ; 
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother : 
But heavenly Rosalind I Exit 



^tJC 









J9 




Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. 

Celia. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! 
Cupid have mercy ! not a word ? 
Rosalind. Not one to throw at a dog. 
Celia. No, thy words are too precious to 
be cast away upon curs; throw some of 
them at me; come, lame me with reasons. 
Rosalind. Then there were two cousins 
laid up ; when the one should be lamed with 
reasons and the other mad without any. 
Celia. But is all this for your father ? 
Rosalind. No, some of it is for my child's 
father. O, how full of briers is this work- 
ing-day world ! 

Celia. They are but burs, cousin, thrown 
upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk 
not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats 
will catch them. 

Rosalind. I could shake them off my coat : 
these burs are in my heart. 
Celia. Hem them away. 
Rosalind. I would try, if I could cry hem 
and have him. 

Celia. Come, come, wrestle with thy 
affections. 

Rosalind. O, they take the part of a better 
wrestler than myself I 
Celia. O, a good wish upon you! you 

will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, 
20 



turning these jests out of service, let us talk 

in good earnest : is it possible, on such a 

sudden, you should fall into so strong a 

liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest 

son? 

Rosalind* The Duke my father loved his 

father dearly. 

Celia* Doth it therefore ensue that you 

should love his son dearly ? By this kind 

of chase, I should hate him, for my father 

hated his father dearly; yet I hate not 

Orlando. 

Rosalind. No, faith, hate him not, for my 

sake. 

Celia* Why should I not? doth he not 

deserve well ? 

Rosalind* Let me love him for that, and 

do you love him because I do. Look, here 

comes the Duke. 

Celia* With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS. 

Duke Frederick* Mistress, dispatch you 

with your safest haste 
And get you from our court. 
Rosalind* Me, Uncle ? 

Duke Frederick* You, cousin : 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st 

found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

Rosalind* I do beseech your Grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear 

with me : 

2J 



s> 



If with myself I hold intelligence, 

Or have acquaintance with mine own 

desires ; 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, — 
As I do trust I am not, — then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your Highness. 
Duke Frederick. Thus do all traitors 

If their purgation did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself : 
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. 
Rosalind. Yet your mistrust cannot make 

me a traitor : 
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 
Duke Frederick. Thou art thy father's 

daughter; there 's enough. 
Rosalind. So was I when your Highness 

took his dukedom ; 
So was I when your Highness banish'd 

him: 
Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
What's that to me? my father was no 

traitor : 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so 

much 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 
Celia. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
Duke Frederick. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her 

for your sake, 
Else had she with her father ranged along. 
Celia. I did not then entreat to have her 

stay; 

22 



h? 



It was your pleasure and your own remorse : 
I was too young that time to value her ; 
But now I know her, if she be a traitor, 
Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat 

together, 
And wheresoever we went, like Juno's 

swans, 
Still we went coupled and inseparable* 
Duke Frederick* She is too subtle for thee ; 

and her smoothness, 
Her very silence and her patience 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt show more bright and seem 

more virtuous 
When she is gone* Then open not thy 

lips: 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is 

banish'd. 
Celia. Pronounce that sentence then on 

me, my liege : 
I cannot live out of her company. 
Duke Frederick* You are a fool. You, 

niece, provide yourself : 

If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, 

And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and LORDS. 

Celisu O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt 

thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee 



; 1 



mine. 



23 



I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than 

I am. 
Rosalind. I have more cause. 
Celia. Thou hast not, cousin ; 

Prithee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the 

Duke 
Hath banished me, his daughter ? 
Rosalind. That he hath not. 

Celia. No, hath not ? Rosalind lacks then 

the love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am 

one: 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, 

sweet girl ? 
No : let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me how we may fly, 
Whither to go and what to bear with us ; 
And do not seek to take your change upon 

you, 
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me 

out; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows 

pale, 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with 

thee. 
Rosalind. Why, whither shall we go ? 
Celia. To seek my uncle in the forest of 

Arden. 
Rosalind. Alas, what danger will it be to 

us, 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than 
gold. 

24 



SBW 




Celia* I'll put myself in poor and mean 

attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you : so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 
Rosalind* Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand; and — in my 

heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there 

will — 
We '11 have a swashing and a martial out- 
side, 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances* 
Celia* What shall I call thee when thou 

art a man ? 
Rosalind* I '11 have no worse a name than 

Jove's own page ; 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd ? 
Celia* Something that hath a reference to 

my state : 
No longer Celia, but Aliena* 
Rosalind* But, cousin, what if we assay'd 

to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's 

court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 
Celia, He '11 go along o'er the wide world 

with me ; 

25 



Leave me alone to woo him. Let 's away, 
And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt 



*??' 




im 



26 




"... Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? " 





M 



Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and two or 
three LORDS, like foresters* 

Duke Senior* Now, my co-mates and 

brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more 

sweet 
Than that of painted pop ? Are not these 

woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons* difference ; as the icy fang 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my 

body, 

29 



M 



Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 
This is no flattery : these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am/ 
Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head : 
And this our life exempt from public haunt 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running 

brooks, 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
I would not change it. 
Amiens. Happy is your Grace, 

Than can translate the stubbornness of 

fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 
Duke Senior. Come, shall we go and kill 

us venison? 
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, 
Being native burghers of this desert city, 
Should in their own confines with forked 

heads 
Have their round haunches gored. 
First Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, 
And, in that kind, swears you do more 

usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd 

you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along 
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this 

wood: 

30 



J'Sjfiffr. 



To the which place a poor sequestered stag, 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a 

hurt, 
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heaved forth such 

groans, 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern 

coat 
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool, 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift 

brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 
Duke Senior* But what said Jaques ? 

Did he not moralise this spectacle ? 
First Lord* O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless 

stream ; 
'Poor deer/ quoth he, 'thou makest a 

testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which had too much : f then, being 

there alone, 
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ; 
* 'T is right/ quoth he ; ' thus misery doth 

part 
The flux of company :' anon a careless 

herd, 

Full of the pasture, jumps along by him 

And never stays to greet him ; ' Ay/ quoth 

Jaques, 

31 



m 



to 



k 



id" 1 '' 





' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you 

look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? ' 
Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our life ; swearing that we 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what 's 

worse, 
To fright the animals and to kill them up 
In their assigned and native dwelling-place. 
Duke Senior* And did you leave him in 

this contemplation ? 
Second Lord, We did, my lord, weeping 

and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 
Duke Senior. Show me the place : 

I love to cope him in these sullen fits, 
For then he 's full of matter. 
First Lord. I '11 bring you to him straight. 

Exeunt 



Scene II— a room in the palace 



'M 



l^u< 



Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS. 

Duke Frederick. Can it be possible that 

no man saw them ? 
It cannot be : some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did 

see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 

32 




lie': 





Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasured of their 

mistress* 
Second Lord* My lord, the roynish clown, 

at whom so oft 
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also 

missing* 
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 
Confesses that she secretly overheard 
Your daughter and her cousin much 

commend 
The parts and graces of the wrestler 
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; 
And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
That youth is surely in their company, 
Duke Frederick. Send to his brother ; fetch 

that gallant hither ; 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me ; 
1 11 make him find him : do this suddenly, 
And let not search and inquisition quail 
To bring again these foolish runaways* 

Exeunt 



jassss^t^^^s^SSfiS 



Scene III- before Oliver's house 



Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. 

Orlando. Who 's there ? 

Adam. What, my young master ? O my 

gentle master ! 
O my sweet master ! O you memory 
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you 

here? 

3 33 




Why are you virtuous? why do people 

love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong and 

valiant ? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bonny priser of the humorous Duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before 

you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of 

men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours: your virtues, gentle 

master, 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is 

comely 
Envenoms him that bears it I 
Orlando* Why, what 's the matter ? 
Adam, O unhappy youth ! 

Come not within these doors ; within this 

roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
Your brother — no, no brother; yet the 

son — 
Yet not the son, I will not call him son, 
Of him I was about to call his father, — 
Hath heard your praises, and this night he 

means 
To burn the lodging where you use to 

lie 
And you within it : if he fail of that, 
He will have other means to cut you off. 
I overheard him and his practices. 

34 



mm 



This is no place; this house is but a 

butchery : 
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 
Orlando. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst 

thou have me go ? 
Adam. No matter whither, so you come 

not here. 
Orlando. What, wouldst thou have me 

go and beg my food ? 
Or with a base and boisterous sword 

enforce 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do ; 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. 
Adam* But do not so. I have five hun- 
dred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I saved under your father, 
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse 
When service should in my old limbs lie 

lame, 
And unregarded age in corners thrown : 
Take that, and He that doth the ravens 

feed, 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
Be comfort to my age! Here is the 

gold; 
All this I give you. Let me be you 

servant : 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and 

lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did apply 

35 



Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility ; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
I '11 do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 
Orlando. O good old man, how well in 

thee appears 
The constant service of the antique world, 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed I 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 
And having that do choke their service up 
Even with the having: it is not so with 

thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten 

tree, 
That can not so much as a blossom yield 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. 
But come thy ways; we'll go along 

together, 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
We '11 light upon some settled low content. 
Adam* Master, go on, and I will follow 

thee, 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 
From seventeen years till now almost four- 
score 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes 

seek; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week : 

36 



<? 



m 



wsf 




Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
Than to die well and not my master's 
debtor. Exeunt 



^^^^^^^^^ 





Scene IV— the forest of arden 




H 



;>: 



Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA 
for Aliens and TOUCHSTONE. 

Rosalind* O Jupiter, how weary are my 
spirits ! 

Touchstone. I care not for my spirits, if 
my legs were not weary. 
Rosalind. I could find in my heart to dis- 
grace my man's apparel and to cry like a 
woman; but I must comfort the weaker 
vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show 
itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, 
courage, good Aliena. 
Celia* I pray you, bear with me; I can 
not go no further. 

Touchstone* For my part, I had rather 
bear with you than bear you : yet I should 
bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for I think 
you have no money in your purse. 
Rosalind* Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
Touchstone* Ay, now am I in Arden ; the 
more fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a 
better place : but travellers must be content. 
Rosalind* Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 
Enter CORIN and SlLVIUS. 
Look you, who comes here ; a young man 
and an old in solemn talk. 

37 



Wi 







F^: 



n 






Cbrm. That is the way to make her 

scorn you still. 
Silvias* O Corin, that thou knew'st how 

I do love her ! 
Corin, I partly guess ; for I have loved ere 

now. 
Silvius, No, Corin, being old, thou canst 

not guess, 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a 

lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, — 
As sure I think did never man love so, — 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 
Corin, Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 
Silvius, O, thou didst then ne'er love so 

heartily ! 
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 

Thou hast not loved : 

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 

Thou hast not loved : 

Or if thou hast not broke from company 

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 

Thou hast not loved. 

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! Exit j 
Rosalind, Alas, poor shepherd ! searching j 

of thy wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own.1 
Touchstone, And I mine. I remember, J 
when I was in love I broke my sword upon^ 

38 



a stone and bid him take that for coming 
a-night to Jane Smile : and I remember the 
kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs 
that her pretty chopt hands had milked: 
5 and I remember the wooing of a peascod 
instead of her ; from whom I took two cods 
and, giving her them again, said with 
weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake/ 
We that are true lovers run into strange 
capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is 
all nature in love mortal in folly. 
Rosalind* Thou speakest wiser than thou 
art ware of* 

Touchstone* Nay, I shall ne'er be ware 
of mine own wit till I break my shins 
against it* 
Rosalind* Jove, Jove! this shepherd's 

passion 
Is much upon my fashion* 
Touchstone* And mine; but it grows 
something stale with me* 
Celia* I pray you, one of you question 

yond man 
If he for gold will give us any food : 
I faint almost to death* 
Touchstone* Holla, you clown ! 

Rosalind* Peace, fool : he 's not thy kins- 
man. 

Corin* Who calls ? 

Touchstone* Your betters, sir* 
Corin* Else are they very wretched. 

Rosalind* Peace, I say. Good even to 
you, friend. 

39 



Conn. And to you, gentle sir, and to you 

all 

Rosalind. I prithee, shepherd, if that love 

or gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and 

feed: 
Here's a young maid with travel much 

oppressed 
And faints for succour. 
Conn. Fair sir, I pity her 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine 

own, 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ; 
But I am shepherd to another man 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze : 
My master is of churlish disposition 
And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of 

feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote 

now, 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come 

see, 
And in my voice most welcome shall you 

be. 
Rosalind. What is he that shall buy his 

flock and pasture ? 
Conn. That young swain that you saw 

here but erewhile, 
That little cares for buying any thing. 

40 







Rosalind* I pray thee, if it stand with 

honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the 

flock, 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us, 
Celia* And we will mend thy wages. I 

like this place, 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 
Corin. Assuredly the thing is to be sold : 
Go with me : if you like upon report 
The soil, the profit and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 

Exeunt 

Scene V- the forest 
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others. 

SONG. 

Amiens, Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaqaes. More, more, I prithee, more. 
Amiens* It will make you melancholy, 
Monsieur Jaques. 

Jaques. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. 
I can suck melancholy out of a song, as 

41 




/!/!<,! 



«S. 



k&ii 






Wj 



a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, 

more. 

Amiens. My voice is ragged: I know I 

cannot please you. 

\ Jaques. I do not desire you to please me; 
I do desire you to sing. Come, more; 
another stanzo : call you 'em stanzos ? 
Amiens. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. 

[Jaques. Nay, I care not for their names; 
they owe me nothing. Will you sing ? 
Amiens. More at your request than to 
please myself. 

Jaques. Well then, if ever I thank any 
man, I'll thank you; but that they call 
compliment is like the encounter of two 
dog-apes, and when a man thanks me 
heartily, methinks I have given him a 
penny and he renders me the beggarly 
thanks. Come, sing; and you that will 
not, hold your tongues. 
Amiens. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, 
cover the while ; the Duke will drink under 
this tree. He hath been all this day to look 
you. 

Jaques. And I have been all this day to 
avoid him. He is too disputable for my 
company; I think of as many matters as 
he ; but I give heaven thanks, and make no 
boast of them. Come, warble, come. 

SONG. 

Who doth ambition shun, [Alt together 
And loves to live i* the sun, here. 

Seeking the food he eats, 

42 



•mf. 



And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather* 

Jaques* I '11 give you a verse to this note, 
that I made yesterday in despite of my 
invention* 

Amiens* And I '11 sing it* 
J Jaques* Thus it goes : — 

If it do come to pass 
That any man turn ass, 
Leaving his wealth and ease 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame : 
Here shall he see 
Gross fools as he, 
And if he will come to me. 

Amiens* What 's that * ducdame' ? 
Jaques* 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call 
fools into a circle* I '11 go sleep, if I can ; 
if I cannot, I '11 rail against all the first-born 
of Egypt* 

Amiens* And I '11 go seek the Duke : his 
banquet is prepared* Exeunt severally* 



*'W\ 



*&1 



.:>-' 



J? 



M 




43 




^ 



f 



V 



Scene VI— the forest 

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. 

Adam, Dear master, I can go no further ; 
O, I die for food ! Here lie I down, and 
measure out my grave. Farewell, kind 
master. 

Orlando. Why, how now, Adam! no 
greater heart in thee ? Live a little ; com- 
fort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this 
uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I 
will either be food for it or bring it for food 
to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than 
thy powers. For my sake be comfortable ; 
hold death awhile at the arm's end : I will 
here be with thee presently ; and if I bring 
thee not something to eat, I will give thee 
leave to die: but if thou diest before I 
come, thou art a mocker of my labour. 
Well said ! thou lookest cheerly, and I '11 
be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the 
bleak air : come, I will bear thee to some 
shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of 
a dinner, if there live any thing in this 
desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! Exeunt 




44 




Scene VII— the forest 



.<?. 



A table set out* Enter DUKE senior, 

Amiens, and Lords like outlaws. 

Duke Senior* I think he be transformed 

into a beast; 
For I can no where find him like a man. 
First Lord* My lord, he is but even now 

gone hence : 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
Duke Senior* If he, compact of jars, grow 

musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. 
Go, seek him : tell him I would speak with 

him. 
Enter JAQUES. 
First Lord* He saves my labour by his 

own approach. 
Duke Senior* Why, how now, monsieur I 

what a life is this, 
That your poor friends must woo your 

company ? 
What, you look merrily ! 
Jaques* A fool, a fool I I met a fool i* 

the forest, 
A motley fool j a miserable world ! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the 

sun, 
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good 

terms, 
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. 

45 




mi 



\* Good morrow, fool/ quoth I. * No, sir/ 

quoth he, 
{* Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me 

fortune : ' 
iAnd then he drew a dial from his poke, 
;And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
[Says very wisely, ' It is ten o'clock : 
■Thus we may see/ quoth he, * how the 

world wags : 
J T is but an hour ago since it was nine ; 
S^And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; 
[And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and 

ripe, 
[And then, from hour to hour, we rot and 

rot; 
And thereby hangs a tale/ When I did 

hear 
The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
That fools should be so deep-contemplative ; 
And I did laugh sans intermission 
An hour by his dial. O noble fool ! 
A worthy fool ! Motley 's the only wear. 
Duke Senior. What fool is this ? 
Jaques. O worthy fool ! One that hath 

been a courtier, 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
They have the gift to know it : and in his 

brain, 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places 

cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 

46 



vc: 



m. 



gag 




'* And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
And looking on it with lack lustre eye 
Says very wisely, "It is ten o' clock." k J 



it?! 



In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
Duke Senior* Thou shalt have one. 
Jaques* It is my only suit ; 

Provided that you weed your better judge- 
ments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools 

have; 
And they that are most galled with my 

folly, 
They most must laugh. And why, sir, 

must they so ? 
The 'why' is plain as way to parish 

church: 
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and 

through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
Duke Senior* Fie on thee! I can tell 

what thou wouldst do. 
Jaques* What, for a counter, would I do 

but good ? 
Duke Senior* Most mischievous foul sin, 

in chiding sin : 

47 



:V 



*^ : 



For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all the embossed sores and headed 

evils, 
That thou with license of free foot hast 

caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general 

world. 
Jaques. Why, who cries out on pride, 
That can therein tax any private party ? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
Till that the weary very means do ebb ? 
What woman in the city do I name, 
When that I say the city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her, 
When such a one as she such is her neigh- 
bour? 
Or what is he of basest function, 
That says his bravery is not on my cost, 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein 

suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 
There then ; how then ? what then ? Let 

me see wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him 

right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be 

free, 
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose 

flies, 
Unclaimed of any man. But who comes 

here? 

48 



Enter ORLANDO, %>Uh his sword 
( drawn. 

Orlando* Forbear, and cat no more. 

Jaques* Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orlando* Nor shall not, till necessity be 
served. 

Jaques* Of what kind should this cock 
come of ? 

Duke Senior* Art thou thus bolden'd, man, 
by thy distress ? 

Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 

That in civility thou seem *st so empty ? 

Orlando* You touched my vein at first : 
the thorny point 

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the 
show 

Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred 

And know some nurture. But forbear, I 
say: 

He dies that touches any of this fruit 

Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaques* An you will not be answered 

with reason, I must die* 

Duke Senior* What would you have? 
Your gentleness shall force, 

More than your force move us to gentle- 
ness. 

Orlando* I almost die for food; and let 
me have it. 

Duke Senior* Sit down and feed, and wel- 
come to our table. 

Orlando* Speak you so gently ? Pardon 
me, I pray you : 

A 49 



i 



'w&m 



I thought that all things had been savage 

here; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whatever 

you are 
That in this desert inaccessible, 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have looked on better days, 
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to 

church, 
If ever sat at any good man's feast, 
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear 
And know what 't is to pity and be pitied, 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
In the which hope I blush, and hide my 

sword. 
Duke Senior. True is it that we havei 

seen better days, 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to ; 

church, 
And sat at good men's feasts, and wiped j 

our eyes 

Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered:; 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take upon command what help we] 

have 
That to your wanting may be ministered. 
Orlando. Then but forbear your food a| 

little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. There is an old poor; 

man, 

50 



•••z**. 



V. 



m 



Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love : till he be first sufficed, 
Oppressed with two weak evils, age and 

hunger, 
I will not touch a bit* 

Duke Senior, Go find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 
Orlando* I thank ye; and be blest for 

your good comfort ! Exit 

Duke Senior* Thou seest we are not all 

alone unhappy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the 

scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaques. All the world *s a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many 

parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first the 

infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
Then the whining school-boy, with his 

satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like 

snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a 

soldier, 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the 

pard, 

51 



*'W* 






*v, 



m 



M 



Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in 

quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then 

the justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age 

shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too 

wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly 

voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of 

all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every 

thing. 

Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM. 

Duke Senior. Welcome. Set down your 

venerable burthen, 
And let him feed. 

Orlando* I thank you most for him. 
Adam. So had you need : 

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
Du ke Senior. Welcome ; fall to : I will not 

trouble you 

52 



As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 

Give us some music; and, good cousin, 

sing. 

SONG. 

Amiens* Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh-ho I sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green 

holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
mere folly : 

Then, heigh-ho, the holly ! 
This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh-ho! sing, &c. 

Duke Senior* If that you were the good 

Sir Rowland's son, 
As you have whispered faithfully you were, 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome hither : I am the Duke 
That loved your father: the residue of 

your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, 

53 



Z/rrlA'V^' 






Thou art right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. Give me your 

hand, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. 

Exeunt 




54 



wm 



Sl'W 



Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, and] 

Oliver. 

Duke Frederick. Not see him since ? Sir, 

sir, that cannot be : 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoever he is ; 
Seek him with candle; bring him dead or] 

living 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no, 

more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call, 

thine 

Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,' 
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's \ 

mouth 
Of what we think against thee. 
Oliver* O that your Highness knew my, 

heart in this ! 
I never loved my brother in my life. 
Duke Frederick More villain thou. Well, 

push him out of doors ; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent upon his house and lands : 
Do this expediently and turn him going. 

Exeunt} 



wm 



57 




Enter ORLANDO, with a paper* 

Orlando* Hang there, my verse, in witness 
of my love : 
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, 
survey 
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere 
above, 
Thy huntress* name that my full life doth 
sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books 
And in their barks my thoughts I'll 
character' ; 
That every eye which in this forest looks 
Shall see thy virtue witnessed every 
where. 

58 




"Hang there* my verse, in witness of my love/' 




U 



Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. 

Exit 
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. 
Corin* And how like you this shepherd's 
life, Master Touchstone ? 
Touchstone* Truly, shepherd, in respect 
of itself, it is a good life ; but in respect that 
it is a shepherd's life, it is naught* In re- 
spect that it is solitary, I like it very well ; 
but in respect that it is private, it is a very 
vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, 
it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not 
in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare 
life, look you, it fits my humour well ; but 
as there is no more plenty in it, it goes 
much against my stomach. Hast any 
philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 
Covin* No more but that I know the more 
one sickens the worse at ease he is ; and 
that he that wants money, means and con- 
tent is without three good friends ; that the 
property of rain is to wet and fire to burn ; 
that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that 
a great cause of the night is lack of the sun ; 
that he that hath learned no wit by nature 
nor art may complain of good breeding or 
comes of a very dull kindred. 
Touchstone* Such a one is a natural 
philosopher. Wast ever in court, shep- 
herd? 

Corin* No, truly* 
Touchstone* Then thou art damned* 

59 



% 



Conn. Nay, I hope. 

Touchstone. Truly, thou art damned, like 
an ill-roasted z%% all on one side. 
Corin. For not being at court? Your 
reason. 

Touchstone. Why, if thou never wast at 
court, thou never sawest good manners ; 
if thou never sawest good manners, 
then thy manners must be wicked; and 
wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. 
Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 
Corin. Not a whit, Touchstone : those that 
are good manners at the court are as ridic- 
ulous in the country as the behaviour of 
^ the country is most mockable at the court. 
You told me you salute not at the court, 
but you kiss your hands: that courtesy 
would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shep- 
herds. 

Touchstone* Instance, briefly ; come, in- 
stance. 

Conn. Why, we are still handling our 
ewes, and their fells, you know, are 
greasy. 

Touchstone. Why, do not your courtier's 
hands sweat? and is not the grease of a 
mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a 
man? Shallow, shallow. A better in- 
stance, I say ; come. 
Corin. Besides, our hands are hard. 
Touchstone. Your lips will feel them the 
sooner. Shallow again, A more sounder 
instance, come. 

60 



Conn* And they are often tarred over 
with the surgery of our sheep ; and would 
you have us kiss tar ? The courtier's hands 
are perfumed with civet. 
Touchstone* Most shallow man! thou 
worm's-meat, in respect of a good piece of 
flesh indeed ! Learn of the wise, and per- 
pend : civet is of a baser birth than tar, the 
very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the 
instance, shepherd. 

Corin. You have too courtly a wit for 
me : I '11 rest. 

Touchstone* Wilt thou rest damned? 
God help thee, shallow man ! God make 
incision in thee ! thou art raw. 
Corin* Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn 
that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man 
hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of 
other men's good, content with my harm, 
and the greatest of my pride is to see my 
ewes graze and my lambs suck. 
Touchstone* That is another simple sin 
in you, to bring the ewes and the rams 
together and to offer to get your living by 
the copulation of cattle ; to be bawd to a 
bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a 
twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuck- 
oldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If 
thou beest not damned for this, the devil 
himself will have no shepherds; I cannot 
see else how thou shouldst 'scape. 
Conn, Here comes young Master Gany- 
mede, my new mistress's brother. 

6J 



Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading. 
Rosalind. From the east to western Ind, 

No jewel is like Rosalind. 

Her worth, being mounted on the wind 

Through all the world bears Rosalind. 

All the pictures fairest lined 

Are but black to Rosalind. 

Let no face be kept in mind 

But the fair of Rosalind. 

Touchstone. I '11 rhyme you so eight years 
together, dinners and suppers and sleeping- 
hours excepted: it is the right butter- 
women's rank to market. 
Rosalind. Out, fool ! 
Touchstone. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind, 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So be sure will Rosalind. 

Winter garments must be lined, 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap must sheaf and bind ; 

Then to cart with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find, 

Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 

This is the very false gallop of verses : why 
do you infect yourself with them ? 
Rosalind. Peace, you dull fool! I found 
them on a tree. 

62 



•H>' , »' > \ 



JteSa 



mm 



Touchstone. Truly, the tree yields bad 
fruit, 

Rosattnd* I '11 graff it with you, and then 
I shall graff it with a medlar : then it will 
be the earliest fruit i' the country ; for you '11 
be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that 's 
the right virtue of the medlar. 
Touchstone* You have said; but whether 
wisely or no, let the forest judge. 
Enter CELIA, with a •writing* 
Rosalind* Peace ! 

Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside. 
Celia. \_Reads] Why should this a desert 
be? 
For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
Tongues I '11 hang on every tree, 
That shall civil sayings show : 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage, 
That the stretching of a span 
Buckles in his sum of age ; 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : 
But upon the fairest boughs, 
Or at every sentence end, 
Will I Rosalinda write, 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 
Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charged 

That one body should be fill'd 
With all graces wide-enlarged ; 
Nature presently distill'd 

63 



m 



mm 



wk 



Helen's cheek, but not her heart, 
Cleopatra's majesty, 

Atalanta's better part, 
Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised ; 
Of many faces, eyes and hearts, 

To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should 

have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Rosalind, O most gentle pulpiter! what 
tedious homily of love have you wearied 
your parishioners withal, and never cried 
* Have patience, good people ! ' 
Celia, How now! back, friends! Shep- 
herd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. 
Touchstone* Come, shepherd, let us make 
an honourable retreat ; though not with bag 
and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 
Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. 
Celia, Didst thou hear these verses ? 
Rosalind, O, yes, I heard them all, and 
more too; for some of them had in them 
more feet than the verses would bear. 
Celia, That 's no matter : the feet might 
bear the verses. 

Rosalind, Ay, but the feet were lame and 
could not bear themselves without the verse 
and therefore stood lamely in the verse. 
Celia, But didst thou hear without won- 
dering how thy name should be hanged 
and carved upon these trees ? 

64 






Rosalind. I was seven of the nine days 
out of the wonder before you came; for 
look here what I found on a palm tree. I 
was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' 
time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can 
hardly remember. 

Celia* Trow you who hath done this ? 
Rosalind* Is it a man ? 
Celia* And a chain, that you once wore, 
about his neck. Change you colour ? 
Rosalind* I prithee, who ? 
Celia. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter 
for friends to meet ; but mountains may be 
removed with earthquakes and so en- 
counter. 

Rosalind* Nay, but who is it ? 
Celia, Is it possible ? 
Rosalind* Nay, I prithee now with 
most petitionary vehemence, tell me who 
it is. 

Celia* O wonderful, wonderful, and most 
wonderful wonderful ! and yet again won- 
derful, and after that, out of all hooping ! 
Rosalind* Good my complexion I dost thou 
think, though I am caparisoned like a man, 
I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? 
One inch of delay more is a South-sea of 
discovery ; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, 
and speak apace. I would thou couldst 
stammer, that thou might'st pour this con- 
cealed man out of thy mouth, as wine 
comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, 
either too much at once, or none at all. I 

5 65 



S> 



prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that 
I may drink thy tidings. 
Celia. So you may put a man in your 
belly. 

Rosalind, Is he of God's making ? What 
manner of man ? Is his head worth a hat ? 
Or his chin worth a beard ? 
Celia. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
Rosalind. Why, God will send more, if 
the man will be thankful : let me stay the 
growth of his beard, if thou delay me not 
the knowledge of his chin. 
Celia. It is young Orlando, that tripped up 
the wrestler's heels and your heart both in 
an instant. 

Rosalind. Nay, but the devil take mock- 
ing : speak sad brow and true maid. 
Celia. I' faith, coz, 't is he. 
Rosalind. Orlando ? 
Celia. Orlando. 

Rosalind. Alas the day ! what shall I do 
with my doublet and hose ? What did he 
when thou sawest him ? What said he ? 
How looked he ? Wherein went he ? What 
makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where 
remains he? How parted he with thee? 
and when shalt thou see him again ? An- 
swer me in one word. 
Celia. You must borrow me Gargantua's 
mouth first : 't is a word too great for any 
mouth of this age's sue. To say ay and 
no to these particulars is more than to 
answer in a catechism. 

66 



Rosalind* But doth he know that I am in 
this forest and in man's apparel ? Looks 
he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled ? 
Celia* It is as easy to count atomies as to 
resolve the propositions of a lover ; but take 
a taste of my finding him, and relish it with 
good observance* I found him under a 
tree, like a dropped acorn, 
Rosalind* It may well be called Jove's 
tree, when it drops forth such fruit. 
Celia* Give me audience, good madam. 
Rosalind* Proceed. 

Celia* There lay he, stretched along, like 
a wounded knight. 

Rosalind* Though it be pity to see such a 
sight, it well becomes the ground. 
Celia* Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I 
prithee ; it curvets unseasonably. He was 
furnished like a hunter. 
Rosalind* O, ominous ! he comes to kill 
my heart. 

Celia* I would sing my song without a 
burden : thou bringest me out of tune. 
Rosalind* Do you not know I am a 
woman? when I think, I must speak. 
Sweet, say on* 

Celia* You bring me out. Soft! comes 
he not here ? 

Enter ORLANDO aw/jAQUES. 
Rosalind* T is he: slink by, and note him. 
Jaques* I thank you for your company ; 
but, good faith, I had as lief have been my- 
self alone. 

67 



K 






§m 






Orlando. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion 
sake, 

I thank you too for your society. 
Jaques. God buy you : let 's meet as little 
as we can. 

Orlando. I do desire we may be better 
strangers. 

Jaques. I pray you, mar no more trees 
with writing love-songs in their barks. 
Orlando. I pray you, mar no moe of my 
verses with reading them ill-favouredly. 
Jaques. Rosalind is your love's name ? 
Orlando. Yes, just. 
Jaques. I do not like, her name. 
Orlando. There was no thought of pleas- 
ing you when she was christened. 
Jaques* What stature is she of ? 
Orlando. Just as high as my heart. 
Jaques. You are full of pretty answers. 
Have you not been acquainted with gold- 
smiths' wives, and conned them out of 
rings? 

Orlando. Not so ; but I answer you right 
painted cloth, from whence you have stud- 
ied your questions. 

Jaques. You have a nimble wit : I think 
't was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you 
sit down with me ? and we two will rail 
against our mistress the world, and all our 
misery. 

Orlando. I will chide no breather in the 
world but myself, against whom I know 
most faults. 

68 



\« 



Jaques. The worst fault you have is to 
be in love. 

Orlando. *T is a fault I will not change 
for your best virtue. I am weary of you. 
Jaques. By my troth, I was seeking for 
a fool when I found you. 
Orlando. He is drowned in the brook: 
look but in, and you shall see him. 
Jaques. There I shall see mine own 
figure. 

Orlando. Which I take to be either a fool 
or a cipher. 

Jaques. I'll tarry no longer with you: 
farewell, good Signior Love. 
Orlando. I am glad of your departure: 
adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. 

Exit J AQUES. 
Rosalind* [Aside to Celxa.~\ I will speak to 
him like a saucy lackey, and under that 
habit play the knave with him. Do you 
hear, forester ? 

Orlando* Very well : what would you ? 
Rosalind* I pray you, what is 't o'clock ? 
Orlando* You should ask me what time 
o* day : there 's no clock in the forest. 
Rosalind* Then there is no true lover in 
the forest; else sighing every minute and 
groaning every hour would detect the lazy 
foot of Time as well as a clock. 
Orlando. And why not the swift foot of 
Time ? had not that been as proper ? 
Rosalind* By no means, sir : Time travels 
in divers paces with divers persons. I'll 

69 



5s 

9G/ 



m 



m 



iliilltoKilmitl 



tell you who Time ambles withal, who 
Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal 
and who he stands still withal. 
Orlando. I prithee, who doth he trot 
withal ? 

Rosalind. Marry, he trots hard with a 
young maid between the contract of her 
marriage and the day it is solemnized : if 
the interim be but a se'n night, Time's pace 
is so hard that it seems the length of seven 
year, 

Orlando. Who ambles Time withal ? 
Rosalind. With a priest that lacks Latin, 
and a rich man that hath not the gout ; for 
the one sleeps easily because he cannot 
study, and the other lives merrily because 
he feels no pain ; the one lacking the burden 
of lean and wasteful learning, the other 
knowing no burden of heavy tedious 
penury : these Time ambles withaL 
Orlando. Who doth he gallop withal? 
Rosalind. With a thief to the gallows; 
for though he go as softly as foot can fall, 
he thinks himself too soon there. 
Orlando. Who stays it still withal ? 
Rosalind. With lawyers in the vacation ; 
for they sleep between term and term 
and then they perceive not how Time 
moves. 

Orlando. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 
Rosalind. With this shepherdess, my 
sister : here in the skirts of the forest, like 
fringe upon a petticoat. 

70 



Orlando. Are you native of this place ? 
Rosalind* As the cony that you see dwell 
where she is kindled. 

Orlando. Your accent is something finer 
than you could purchase in so removed a 
dwelling. 

Rosalind* I have been told so of many : 
but indeed an old religious uncle of mine 
taught me to speak, who was in his youth 
an inland man ; one that knew courtship 
too well, for there he fell in love. I have 
heard him read many lectures against it, 
and I thank God I am not a woman, to be 
touched with so many giddy offences as 
he hath generally taxed their whole sex 
withal. 

Orlando* Can you remember any of the 
principal evils that he laid to the charge of 
women ? 

Rosalind* There were none principal; 
they were all like one another as half-pence 
are, every one fault seeming monstrous till 
his fellow-fault came to match it. 
Orlando* I prithee, recount some of 
them. 

Rosalind* No, I will not cast away my 
physic but on those that are sick. There 
is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our 
young plants with carving Rosalind on 
their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns 
and elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deify- 
ing the name of Rosalind : if I could meet 
that fancy-monger, I would give him some 

71 



mm 



good counsel, for he seems to have the 
quotidian of love upon him. 
Orlando, I am he that is so love-shaked : 
I pray you, tell me your remedy. 
Rosalind. There is none of my uncle's 
marks upon you: he taught me how to 
know a man in love; in which cage of 
rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. 
Orlando, What were his marks ? 
Rosalind. A lean cheek, which you have 
not ; a blue eye and sunken, which you have 
not; an unquestionable spirit, which you 
have not; a beard neglected, which you 
have not ; but I pardon you for that, for 
simply your having in beard is a younger 
brother's revenue : then your hose should 
be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your 
sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and 
everything about you demonstrating a care- 
less desolation ; but you are no such man ; 
you are rather point-device in your accou- 
trements, as loving yourself than seeming 
the lover of any other. 
Orlando. Fair youth, I would I could 
make thee believe I love. 
Rosalind. Me believe it! you may as 
soon make her that you love believe it; 
which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to 
confess she does : that is one of the points 
in the which women still give the lie to their 
consciences. But, in good sooth, are you 
he that hangs the verses on the trees, where- 
in Rosalind is so admired ? 

72 



V* 



fel 



Orlando* I swear to thee, youth, by the 
white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that 
unfortunate he. 

Rosalind, But are you so much in love as 
your rhymes speak ? 

Orlando* Neither rhyme nor reason can 
express how much, 

Rosalind* Love is merely a madness; and, 
I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and 
a whip as madmen do : and the reason why 
they are not so punished and cured is, that 
the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers 
are in love too* Yet I profess curing it by 
counsel. 

Orlando* Did you ever cure any so ? 
Rosalind* Yes, one, and in this manner. 
He was to imagine me his love, his mis- 
tress ; and I set him every day to woo me : 
at which time would I, being but a moonish 
youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, 
longing and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, 
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of 
smiles ; for every passion something and for 
no passion truly any thing, as boys and 
women are for the most part cattle of this 
colour: would now like him, now loathe 
him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; 
now weep for him, then spit at him ; that I 
drave my suitor from his mad humour of 
love to a living humour of madness ; which 
was, to forswear the full stream of the world 
and to live in a nook merely monastic. 
And thus I cured him ; and this way will I 

73 



•■■■'■"-■ 



»m 



take upon me to wash your liver as clean 
as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall 
not be one spot of love in 't. 
Orlando. I would not be cured, youth. 
Rosalind. I would cure you, if you would 
but call me Rosalind and come every day 
to my cote and woo me. 
Orlando. Now, by the faith of my love, I 
will : tell me where it is. 
Rosalind. Go with me to it and I '11 show 
it you : and by the way you shall tell me 
where in the forest you live. Will you go ? 
Orlando. With all my heart, good youth. 
Rosalind. Nay, you must call me Rosa- 
lind. Come, sister, will you go ? 

Exeunt 




Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; 
JAQUES behind. 

Touchstone. Come apace, good Audrey: 
I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And 
how, Audrey ? am I the man yet ? doth my 
simple feature content you ? 
Audrey. Your features ! Lord warrant 
us ! what features ? 

Touchstone. I am here with thee and thy 
goats, as the most capricious poet, honest 
Ovid, was among the Goths. 
Jaques. [Aside, ,] O knowledge ill-inhab- 
ited, worse than Jove in a thatched house ! 



74 



WNBr 



Touchstone* When a man's verses cannot 
be understood, nor a man's good wit 
seconded with the forward child, under- 
standing, it strikes a man more dead than a 
great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I 
would the gods had made thee poetical. 
Audrey* I do not know what * poetical' 
is : is it honest in deed and word ? is it a 
true thing ? 

Touchstone* No, truly; for the truest 
poetry is the most feigning ; and lovers are 
given to poetry, and what they swear in 
poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. 
Audrey* Do you wish then that the gods 
had made me poetical ? 
Touchstone* I do, truly ; for thou swear- 
est to me thou art honest : now, if thou wert 
a poet, I might have some hope thou didst 
feign. 

Audrey* Would you not have me honest ? 
Touchstone* No, truly, unless thou wert 
hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to 
beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. 
Jaques* [Aside*'] A material fool ! 
Audrey* Well, I am not fair ; and there- 
fore I pray the gods make me honest. 
Touchstone* Truly, and to cast away 
honesty upon a foul slut were to put good 
meat into an unclean dish. 
Audrey* I am not a slut, though I thank 
the gods I am foul. 

Touchstone* Well, praised be the gods for 
thy foulness! sluttishness may come here- 

75 



after. But be it as it may be, I will marry 
thee, and to that end I have been with Sir 
Oliver Martext the vicar of the next village, 
who hath promised to meet me in this place 
of the forest and to couple us. 
Jaques. [ Aside* ] I would fain see this 
meeting. 

Audrey. Well, the gods give us joy ! 
Touchstone. Amen. A man may, if he 
were of a fearful heart, stagger in this 
attempt ; for here we have no temple but 
the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. 
But what though? Courage! As horns are 
odious, they are necessary. It is said, 
* many a man knows no end of his goods : ' 
right ; many a man has good horns, and 
knows no end of them. Well, that is 
the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his 
own getting. Horns? — even so: — poor 
men alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer hath 
them as huge as the rascal. Is the single 
man therefore blessed ? No ; as a walled 
town is more worthier than a village, so 
is the forehead of a married man more 
honourable than the bare brow of a 
bachelor; and by how much defence is 
better than no skill, by so much is a horn 
more precious than to want. Here comes 
Sir Oliver. 

Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT. 
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met : will 
you dispatch us here under this tree, or 
shall we go with you to your chapel ? 

76 



ws&m 






5iV 0/tW. Is there none here to give the 

woman ? 

Touchstone. I will not take her on gift of 

any man. 

Sir Other. Truly, she must be given, or 

the marriage is not lawful. 

Jaques. Proceed, proceed: 111 give her. 

Touchstone. Good even, good Master 

What-ye-call't : how do you, sir? You 

are very well met : God 'ild you for your last 

company : I am very glad to see you: even a 

toy in hand here, sir : nay, pray be covered. 

Jaques. Will you be married, motley ? 
Touchstone. As the ox hath his bow, sir, 
the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, 
so man hath his desires; and as pigeons 
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. 

Jaques. And will you, being a man of 
your breeding, be married under a bush like 
a beggar? Get you to church, and have a 
good priest that can tell you what marriage 
is : this fellow will but join you together as 
they join wainscot; then one of you will 
prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber 
warp, warp. 

Touchstone. [ Aside."] I am not in the 
mind but I were better to be married of him 
than of another : for he is not like to marry 
me well ; and not being well married, it will 
be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave 
my wife. 

Jaques. Go thou with me, and let me 
counsel thee. 

77 



mm 



Touchstone, Come, sweet Audrey : 

We must be married, or we must live in 

bawdry. 

Farewell, good Master Oliver : not, — 
O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, 
Leave me not behind thee : 
but,— 

Wind away, 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding with thee. 

Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and 

Audrey. 

Sir Oliver, 'T is no matter : ne'er a fan- 
tastical knave of them all shall flout me out 
of my calling. Exit 



mm 




SCENE IV-THE FOREST 




Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. 

Rosalind* Never talk to me ; I will weep. 
Celia, Do, I prithee; but yet have the 
grace to consider that tears do not become 
a man. 

Rosalind* But have I not cause to weep ? 
Celia, As good cause as one would desire ; 
therefore weep. 

Rosalind, His very hair is of the dissem- 
bling colour. 

Celia, Something browner than Judas's : 
marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. 

78 





Rosalind. V faith, his hair is of a good 
colour. 

Celia* An excellent colour : your chestnut 
was ever the only colour. 
Rosalind* And his kissing is as full of sanc- 
tity as the touch of holy bread. 
Celia* He hath bought a pair of cast lips 
of Diana; a nun of winter's sisterhood 
kisses not more religiously ; the very ice of 
chastity is in them. 

Rosalind* But why did he swear he would 
come this morning, and comes not ? 
Celia* Nay, certainly, there is no truth in 
him. 

Rosalind* Do you think so ? 
Celia* Yes ; I think he is not a pick-purse 
nor a horse-stealer ; but for his verity in 
love, I do think him as concave as a covered 
goblet or a worm-eaten nut. 
Rosalind* Not true in love ? 
Celia* Yes, when he is in ; but I think he 
is not in. 

Rosalind* You have heard him swear 
downright he was. 

Celia* * Was ' is not ' is ' : besides, the 
oath of a lover is no stronger than the 
word of a tapster ; they are both the con- 
firmer of false reckonings. He attends 
here in the forest on the Duke your father. 
Rosalind* I met the Duke yesterday and 
had much question with him: he asked 
me of what parentage I was ; I told him, 
of as good as he; so he laughed and let 

79 



mm 



me go. But what talk we of fathers, when 
there is such a man as Orlando ? 
Cetieu O, that 's a brave man ! he writes 
brave verses, speaks brave words, swears 
brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite 
traverse, athwart the heart of his lover ; as 
a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on 
one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose : 
but all 's brave that youth mounts and folly 
guides. Who comes here ? 
Enter CORIN. 
Coriru Mistress and master, you have oft 

inquired 
After the shepherd that complained of love, 
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 
Celia. Well, and what of him ? 

Corin, If you will see a pageant truly 

play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the red glow of scorn and proud dis- 
dain, 
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 

Rosalind* O, come, let us remove : 
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. 
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 
I II prove a busy actor in their play. 

Exeunt 



80 




Scene V— anotherpartofthe forest 




Enter SlLVIUS andPHEBE. 



Silvias* Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; 

do not, Phebe ; 
Say that you love me not, but say not so 
In bitterness. The common executioner, 
Whose heart the accustomed sight of death 

makes hard, 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 
But first begs pardon : will you sterner be 
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORDST, 
behind* 

Phebe* I would not be thy executioner : 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee* 
Thou telPst me there is murder in mine eye : 
T is pretty, sure, and very probable, 
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest 

things, 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, 
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, mur- 
derers ! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them 

kill thee : 
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why now fall 

down; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for 

shame, 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers ! 

6 81 



Js. 



Now show the wound mine eye hath made 

in thee : 
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there re- 
mains 
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, 
The cicatrice and capable impressure 
Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now 

mine eyes, 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. 
^ Silvias, O dear Phebe, 

V T If ever, — as that ever may be near, — 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power 

of fancy, 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 
Phebe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me: and when that 

time comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As till that time I shall not pity thee. 
Rosalind. And why, I pray you ? Who 

might be your mother, 
| That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
Over the wretched? What though you 

have no beauty, — 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed, — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
Why, what means this? Why do you 

look on me ? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 

82 



X 



&m 



L 



Of nature's sale-work, 'Od's my little life, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it : 
T is not your inky brows, your black silk 

hair, 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of 

cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you 

follow her, 
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and 

rain? 

You are a thousand times a properer man 
Than she a woman : *t is such fools as you 
That makes the world full of ill-favour'd 

children : 
HT is not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself; down on 

your knees, 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's 

love: 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can: you are not for all 

markets : 
Cry the man mercy ; love him; take his offer: 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd : fare you well. 
Phebe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a 

year together : 
I had rather hear you chide than this man 

woo. 

83 



X 



Rosalind. He's fallen in love with your 
foulness and she'll fall in love with my 
anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers 
thee with frowning looks, I '11 sauce her 
with bitter words. Why look you so upon 
me? 

Phebe. For no ill will I bear you. 
Rosalind. I pray you, do not fall in love 

with me, 
For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
Besides, I like you not. If you will know 

my house, 
'T is at the tuft of olives here hard by. 
Will you go, sister ? Shepherd, ply her 

hard. 
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him 

better, 
And be not proud: though all the world 

could see, 
None could be so abused in sight as he. 
Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, 

CELIAam/CORIN 
Phebe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw 

of might, 
* Who ever loved that loved not at first 

sight?' 
Silvias. Sweet Phebe, — 
Phebe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 
Silvias. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
Phebe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle 

Silvius. 
Silvias. Wherever sorrow is, relief would 

be: 

84 



If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermined. 
Phebe* Thou hast my love: is not that 

neighbourly ? 
Silvias* I would have you. 
Phebe* Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so 

well, 
Thy company, which erst was irksome to 

me, 
I will endure, and I '11 employ thee too : 
But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art 

employed. 
Silvius* So holy and so perfect is my love, 
And I in such a poverty of grace, 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps: loose now 

and then 
A scattered smile, and that 1 11 live upon. 
Phebe* Know'st thou the youth that spoke 

to me erewhile? 
Silvias* Not very well, but I have met 

him oft ; 
And he hath bought the cottage and the 

bounds 
That the old carlot once was master of. 
Phebe* Think not I love him, though I 

ask for him ; 

85 






'T is but a peevish boy ; yet he talks well ; 
But what care I for words ? yet words do 

well 
When he that speaks them pleases those 

that hear. 
It is a pretty youth : not very pretty : 
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride 

becomes him : 
He '11 make a proper man : the best thing 

in him 
Is his complexion; and faster than his 

tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he 's 

tall: 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 
A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 't was just 

the difference 
Betwixt the constant red and mingled 

damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they 

mark'd him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
To fall in love with him : but, for my part, 
I love him not nor hate him not ; and yet 
I have more cause to hate him than to love 

him: 
For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
He said mine eyes were black and my hair 

black ; 
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 

86 



M® 



I marvel why I answer'd not again : 
But that's all one; omittance is no quit- 
tance. 
Til write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou shalt bear it : wilt thou, Silvius ? 
Silvias. Phebe, with all my heart. 
Phebe. I '11 write it straight ; 

The matter 's in my head and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt 



mm 




m 



87 




Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. 

Jaques* I prithee, pretty youth, let me be 

better acquainted with thee* 

Rosalind* They say you are a melancholy 

fellow. 

Jaques* I am so ; I do love it better than 

laughing. 

Rosalind* Those that are in extremity of 

either are abominable fellows, and betray 

themselves to every modern censure worse 

than drunkards. 

Jaques. Why, *t is good to be sad and say 

nothing. 

Rosalind* Why then, 't is good to be a 

post. 

91 



Jaques. I have neither the scholar's mel- 
ancholy, which is emulation ; nor the 
musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the 
courtier's, which is proud ; nor the sol- 
dier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, 
which is politic ; nor the lady's, which is 
nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these : 
but it is a melancholy of mine own, com- 
pounded of many simples, extracted from 
many objects; and indeed the sundry con- 
templation of my travels, in which my 
often rumination wraps me in a most 
humorous sadness. 

Rosalind* A traveller I By my faith, you 
have great reason to be sad : I fear you 
have sold your own lands to see other 
men's; then, to have seen much, and to 
have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
hands. 

Jaques* Yes, I have gained my experience. 
Rosalind* And your experience makes 
you sad : I had rather have a fool to make 
me merry than experience to make me sad ; 
and to travel for it too I 
Enter ORLANDO. 

Orlando. Good-day and happiness, dear 
Rosalind I 

Jaques* Nay, then, God buy you, an you 
talk in blank verse. Exit* 

Rosalind* Farewell, Monsieur Traveller : 
look you lisp and wear strange suits ; dis- 
able all the benefits of your own country ; 
be out of love with your nativity and almost 

92 



chide God for making you that countenance 
you are ; or I will scarce think you have 
swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Or- 
lando ! where have you been all this while ? 
You a lover ! An you serve me such 
another trick, never come in my sight more. 
Orlando* My fair Rosalind, I come with- 
in an hour of my promise. 
Rosalind* Break an hour's promise in 
love ! He that will divide a minute into a 
thousand parts, and break but a part of the 
thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of 
love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath 
clapped him o* the shoulder, but 1 11 warrant 
him heart-whole. 

Orlando* Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
Rosalind* Nay, an you be so tardy, come 
no more in my sight : I had as lief be wooed 
of a snail. 

Orlando* Of a snail ? 
Rosalind* Ay, of a snail ; for though he 
comes slowly, he carries his house on his 
head; a better jointure, I think, than you 
make a woman : besides, he brings his des- 
tiny with him. 
Orlando* What 's that ? 
Rosalind* Why, horns, which such as 
you are fain to be beholding to your wives 
for : but he comes armed in his fortune and 
prevents the slander of his wife. 
Orlando* Virtue is no horn-maker; and 
my Rosalind is virtuous. 
Rosalind* And I am your Rosalind. 

93 



w 



'%„«»• 



w. 



Ctj 



Celia, It pleases him to call you so ; but he 

hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

Rosalind. Come, woo me, woo me; for 

now I am in a holiday humour and like 

enough to consent. What would you say 

to me now, an I were your very very 

Rosalind ? 

Orlando, I would kiss before I spoke. 

Rosalind, Nay, you were better speak 

first; and when you were gravelled for lack 

of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. 

Very good orators, when they are out, they 

will spit ; and for lovers lacking — God warn 

us ! — matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 

Orlando, How if the kiss be denied ? 

Rosalind* Then she puts you to entreaty 

and there begins new matter. 

Orlando, Who could be out, being before 

his beloved mistress ? 

Rosalind* Marry, that should you, if I 

were your mistress, or I should think my 

honesty ranker than my wit. 

Orlando, What, of my suit ? 

Rosalind* Not out of your apparel, and 

yet out of your suit. Am not I your 

Rosalind ? 

Orlando, I take some joy to say you are, 

because I would be talking of her. 

Rosalind, Well, in her person, I say I will 

not have you. 

Orlando, Then in mine own person I die. 

Rosalind, No, faith, die by attorney. The 

poor world is almost six thousand years 

94 



*««-?. 



mm 



im 



.^m* 1 ' 



\ 



M 



old, and in all this time there was not any 
man died in his own person, videlicet, in a 
love-cause, Troilus had his brains dashed 
out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what 
he could to die before, and he is one of the 
patterns of love. Leander, he would have 
lived many a fair year, though Hero had 
turned nun, if it had not been for a hot 
midsummer night; for, good youth, he 
went but forth to wash him in the Helles- 
pont and being taken with the cramp was 
drowned: and the foolish chroniclers of 
that age found it was * Hero of Sestos/ 
But these are all lies : men have died from 
time to time and worms have eaten them, 
but not for love. 

Orlando. I would not have my right Rosa- 
lind of this mind ; for, I protest, her frown 
might kill me. 

Rosalind. By this hand, it will not kill a 
fly. But come, now I will be your Rosa- 
lind in a more coming-on disposition, and 
ask me what you will, I will grant it. 
Orlando. Then love me, Rosalind. 
Rosalind. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and 
Saturdays and all. 
Orlando. And wilt thou have me ? 
Rosalind. Ay, and twenty such. 
Orlando. What sayest thou ? 
Rosalind* Are you not good ? 
Orlando. I hope so. 

Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too 
much of a good thing ? Come, sister, you 

95 



Wm 



i 



m 



. 



■)>7 



shall be the priest and marry us. Give me 
your hand, Orlando. What do you say, 
sister ? 

Orlando. Pray thee, marry us. 
Celia. I cannot say the words. 
Rosalind. You must begin, 'Will you, 
Orlando — ' 

Celia. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have 
to wife this Rosalind ? 
Orlando. I will. 
Rosalind. Ay, but when ? 
Orlando. Why now ; as fast as she can 
marry us. 

Rosalind. Then you must say * I take thee, 
Rosalind, for wife/ 

Orlando. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
Rosalind. I might ask you for your com- 
mission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for 
my husband : there 's a girl goes before the 
priest; and certainly a woman's thought 
runs before her actions. 
Orlando. So do all thoughts; they are 
winged. 

Rosalind. Now tell me how long you 
would have her after you have possessed 
her. 

Orlando. For ever and a day. 
Rosalind. Say ' a day/ without the 'ever/ 
No, no, Orlando; men are April when 
they woo, December when they wed: 
maids are May when they are maids, but 
the sky changes when they are wives. 
I will be more jealous of thee than a 

96 




:.ip^«pm^$mi*Hi&ttm 



y^gjaaaesas^rt^istt 



"Give me your hand, Orlando. "What do you say, Sister? 




Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more 
clamorous than a parrot against rain, more 
new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in 
my desires than a monkey: I will weep 
for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and 
I will do that when you are disposed to be 
merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, and that 
when thou art inclined to sleep* 
Orlando. But will my Rosalind do so ? 
Rosalind. By my life, she will do as I do* 
Orlando. O, but she is wise. 
Rosalind. Or else she could not have the 
wit to do this : the wiser, the way warder : 
make the doors upon a woman's wit and it 
will out at the casement; shut that and 
'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill 
fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 
Orlando. A man that had a wife with such 
a wit, he might say ' Wit, whither wilt ? ' 
Rosalind. Nay, you might keep that check 
for it till you met your wife's wit going to 
your neighbour's bed. 
Orlando. And what wit could wit have 
to excuse that ? 

Rosalind. Marry, to say she came to seek 
you there. You shall never take her with- 
out her answer, unless you take her without 
her tongue. O, that woman that cannot 
make her fault her husband's occasion, let 
her never nurse her child herself, for she 
will breed it like a fool ! 
Orlando. For these two hours, Rosalind, 
I will leave thee. 



97 



Rosalind, Alas, dear love, I cannot lack 
thee two hours ! 

Orlando. I must attend the Duke at 
dinner : by two o'clock I will be with thee 
again. 

Rosalind. Ay, go your ways, go your 
ways ; I knew what you would prove : my 
friends told me as much, and I thought no 
less: that flattering tongue of yours won 
me : 't is but one cast away, and so, come, 
death ! Two o'clock is your hour ? 
Orlando. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
Rosalind. By my troth, and in good earn- 
est, and so God mend me, and by all pretty 
oaths that are not dangerous, if you break 
one jot of your promise or come one minute 
behind your hour, I will think you the 
most pathetical break-promise, and the most 
hollow lover, and the most unworthy of 
her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen 
out of the gross band of the unfaithful: 
therefore beware my censure and keep your 
promise. 

Orlando. With no less religion than if 
thou wert indeed my Rosalind : so adieu. 
Rosalind. Well, Time is the old justice 
that examines all such offenders, and let 
Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO. 

Celia. You have simply misused our sex 
in your love-prate: we must have your 
doublet and hose plucked over your head, 
and show the world what the bird hath 
done to her own nest. 

98 



mm: a 



Rosalind. O coz, coz. coz, my pretty little 
coz, tjpat thou didst know how many fathom 
deep I am in love! But it cannot be 
sounded : my affection hath an unknown 
bottom, like the bay of Portugal* 
Celia. Or rather, bottomless ; that as fast 
as you pour affection in, it runs out. 
Rosalind. No, that same wicked bastard of 
Venus that was begot of thought, conceived 
of spleen, and born of madness, that blind 
rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes be- 
cause his own are out, let him be judge how 
deep I am in love* I '11 tell thee, Aliena, I 
cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : I '11 
go find a shadow and sigh till he come. 
Cetia. And 1 11 sleep. Exeunt 



■Mm 




EnterjAQUES. LORDS, and FORESTERS. 

Jaques. Which is he that killed the 

deer? 

A Lord* Sir, it was I. 

Jaques. Let's present him to the Duke, 

like a Roman conqueror ; and it would do 

well to set the deer's horns upon his head, 

for a branch of victory. Have you no song, 

forester, for this purpose ? 

Forester. Yes, sir. 

Jaques. Sing it : 't is no matter how it be 

in tune, so it make noise enough. 

99 



l.rfC. 



SONG. 




Forester. What shall he have that kill'd 
the deer ? 
His leather skin and horns to wear. 
Then sing him home : 
The rest shall bear this burden. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born : 
Thy father's father wore it, 
And thy father bore it : 
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 

Exeunt. 

$ Scene ill— the forest c 



Enter ROSALIND andCELIA. 

Rosalind. How say you now ? Is it not 
past two o'clock ? and here much Orlando ! 
Celia. I warrant you, with pure love and 
troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and 
arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, 
who comes here. 

Enter SlLVIUS. 

Silvius. My errand is to you, fair youth ; 
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 
It bears an angry tenour : pardon me ; 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

100 



$**?% 




^ 



Bivffc* 



mm. 



Rosalind* Patience herself would startle at 
this letter 

And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 

She says I am not fair, that I lack manners ; 

She calls me proud, and that she could not 
love me, 

Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od 's my 
will! 

Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 

Why writes she so to me ? Well, shepherd, 
well, 

This is a letter of your own device. 

Silvias* No, I protest, I know not the con- 
tents : 

Phebe did write it. 

Rosalind* Come, come, you are a fool, 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 

I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 

A freestone-coloured hand ; I verily did think 

That her old gloves were on, but 't was her 
hands : 

She has a huswife's hand; but that's no 
matter: 

I say she never did invent this letter; 

This is a man's invention and his hand. 

Silvias* Sure, it is hers. 

Rosalind* Why, 'tis a boisterous and a 
cruel style, 

A style for challengers ; why, she defies me, 

Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle 
brain 

Could not drop forth such giant-rude inven- 
tion, 

JOJ 



mm 



m 



Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 

Than in their countenance. Will you hear 
the letter? 

Silvius. So please you, for I never heard it 
yet; 

Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 

Rosalind. She Phebes me : mark how the 
tyrant writes. 

[Reads] Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? 

Can a woman rail thus ? 

Silvias. Call you this railing ? 

Rosalind [reads']* 

Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? 

Did you ever hear such railing ? 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
That could do no vengeance to me. 

Meaning me a beast. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 
Have power to raise such love in mine, 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in mild aspect ! 
Whiles you chide me, I did love ; 
How then might your prayers move ! 
He that brings this love to thee 
Little knows this love in me : 
And by him seal up thy mind; 
Whether that thy youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 
Of me and all that I can make; 
Or else by him my love deny, 
And then I '11 study how to die. 

102 



i 



1 



Silvias, Call you this chiding ? 
Cetia. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
Rosalind* Do you pity him? no, he de- 
serves no pity. Wilt thou love such a wo- 
man ? What, to make thee an instrument 
and play false strains upon thee ! not to be 
endured ! Well, go your way to her, for I 
see love hath made thee a tame snake, and 
say this to her : that if she love me, I charge 
her to love thee ; if she will not, I will never 
have her unless thou entreat for her. If 
you be a true lover, hence, and not a word ; 
for here comes more company. 

Exit SlLVIUS. 
Enter OLIVER. 

Oliver* Good morrow, fair ones : pray you, 

if you know, 
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive-trees? 
Celia* West of this place, down in the 

neighbour bottom : 
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream 
Left on your right hand brings you to the 

place. 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself; • 
There's none within. 
Oliver* If that an eye may profit by a 

tongue, 
Then should I know you by description ; 
Such garments and such years : * The boy 

is fair, 
Of female favour, and bestows himself 
Like a ripe sister : the woman low, 

J03 



X 



wm 


ftim 



And browner than her brother/ Are not 

you 
The owner of the house I did enquire for ? 
Celia, It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we 

are. 
Oliver, Orlando doth commend him to you 

both, 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he ? 
Rosalind, lam: what must we understand 

by this ? 
Oliver, Some of my shame; if you will 

know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and 

where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 
Celia, I pray you, tell it. 

Oliver, When last the young Orlando 

parted from you 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour, and pacing through the 

forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, 
And mark what object did present itself : 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd 

with age 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with 

hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreathed 
itself, 

104 



f 



^ 



M 



« 



Who with her head nimble in threats ap- 
proached 
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike 

watch, 
When that the sleeping man should stir; 

for 't is 
The royal disposition of that beast 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man 
And found it was his brother, his elder 

brother. 
Celuu O, I have heard him speak of that 

same brother ; 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That lived amongst men. 
Oliver, And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural* 
Rosalind* But, to Orlando : did he leave 

him there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 
Oliver. Twice did he turn his back and 

purposed so ; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
Made him give battle to the lioness, 
Who quickly fell before him: in which 

hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awaked* 

i05 



m 



Celia. Are you his brother ? 

Rosalind. Was \ you he rescued ? 

Celia. Was 't you that did so oft contrive 

to kill him ? 
Oliver. 'T was I ; but 't is not I: I do not 

shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
Rosalind. But, for the bloody napkin ? 
Oliver. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 
Tears our recountments had most kindly 

bathed, 
As how I came into that desert place ; 
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, 
Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
There stripped himself, and here upon his 

arm 
The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
Which all this while had bled ; and now he 

fainted 
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
Brief, I recovered him, bound up his wound ; 
And, after some small space, being strong at 

heart, 
He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

Rosalind swoons. 

106 



W 



Celia* Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet 
Ganymede ! 

Oliver* Many will swoon when they do 
look on blood. 

Celia,* There is more in it. Cousin 
Ganymede ! 

Oliver* Look, he recovers. 

Rosalind* I would I were at home. 

Celia* We '11 lead you thither. 

I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

Oliver* Be of good cheer, youth: you a 

man ! you lack a man's heart. 

Rosalind* I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, 

a body would think this was well counter- 
feited ! I pray you, tell your brother how 

well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho ! 

Oliver* This was not counterfeit: there is 

too great testimony in your complexion that 

it was a passion of earnest. 

Rosalind* Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Oliver* Well then, take a good heart and 

counterfeit to be a man. 

Rosalind* So I do : but, i' faith, I should 

have been a woman by right. 

Celia* Come, you look paler and paler: 

pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go 

with us. 

Oliver* That will I, for I must bear an- 
swer back 

How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Rosalind* I shall devise something: but, 

I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to 

him. Will you go 7 Exeunt 

J07 




fy-p^KK.Oaa*/'. 



u I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble, depart." 





Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 



im 



Touchstone* We shall find a time, Audrey; 

patience, gentle Audrey. 

Audrey* Faith, the priest was good enough, 

for all the old gentleman's saying. 

Touchstone* A most wicked Sir Oliver, 

Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, 

there is a youth here in the forest lays claim 

to you. 

Audrey* Ay, I know who 'tis: he hath 

no interest in me in the world : here comes 

the man you mean. 

Touchstone* It is meat and drink to me to 

see a clown : by my troth, we that have 
in 



ill 



M 



good wits have much to answer for ; we 
shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. 
Enter WILLIAM, 
William, Good even, Audrey. 
Audrey. God ye good even, William. 
William. And good even to you, sir. 
Touchstone. Good even, gentle friend. 
Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pri- 
thee, be covered. How old are you, friend? 
William. Five and twenty, sir. 
Touchstone. A ripe age. Is thy name 
William? 

William. William, sir. 
Touchstone. A fair name. Wast born i* 
the forest here ? 

William* Ay, sir, I thank God, 
Touchstone. * Thank God;' a good an- 
swer. Art rich ? 
William. Faith, sir, so so. 
Touchstone. 'So so ' is good, very good, 
very excellent good ; and yet it is not ; it is 
but so so. Art thou wise ? 
William. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 
Touchstone. Why, thou sayest well. I 
do now remember a saying, * The fool doth 
think he is wise, but the wise man knows 
himself to be a fool/ The heathen philos- 
opher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, 
would open his lips when he put it into his 
mouth ; meaning thereby that grapes were 
made to eat and lips to open. You do love 
this maid? 
William. I do, sir. 

\\2 



Touchstone* Give me your hand. Art 
thou learned ? 
William. No, sir. 

Touchstone. Then learn this of me: to 
have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhet- 
oric that drink, being poured out of a cup 
into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the 
other; for all your writers do consent that ipse 
is he : now, you are not ipse, for I am he. 
William. Which he, sir ? 
Touchstone. He, sir, that must marry this 
woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon, 

— which is in the vulgar leave, — the 
society, — which in the boorish is company, 

— of this female, — which in the common 
is woman ; which together is, abandon the 
society of this female, or, clown, thou per- 
ishest; or, to thy better understanding, 
diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee 
away, translate thy life into death, thy lib- 
erty into bondage: I will deal in poison 
with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will 
bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er-run 
thee with policy ; I will kill thee a hundred and 
and fifty ways : therefore tremble, depart. 
Audrey. Do, good William. 

William. God rest you merry, sir. 

Exit 
Enter CORIN. 

Covin. Our master and mistress seeks 
you ; come, away, away ! . 
Touchstone. Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey I 
I attend, I attend. Exeunt. 



Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER. 



Orlando. Is 't possible that on so little ac- 
quaintance you should like her ? that but 
seeing you should love her? and loving 
woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and 
will you persever to enjoy her ? 
Oliver. Neither call the giddiness of it in 
question, the poverty of her, the small ac- 
quaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her 
sudden consenting ; but say with me, I love 
Aliena ; say with her that she loves me ; 
consent with both that we may enjoy each 
other: it shall be to your good; for my 
father's house and all the revenue that was 
old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, 
and here live and die a shepherd. 
Orlando. You have my consent. Let your 
wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite 
the Duke and all f s contented followers. Go 
you and prepare Aliena ; for look you, here 
comes my Rosalind. 

Enter ROSALIND. 

Rosalind. God save you, brother. 
Oliver. And you, fair sister. Exit. 

Rosalind. O, my dear Orlando, how it 
grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a 
scarf ! 
Orlando. It is my arm. 

114 



(4 



Rosalind* I thought thy heart had been 
wounded with the claws of a lion. 
Orlando. Wounded it is, but with the eyes 
of a lady. 

Rosalind* Did your brother tell you how I 
counterfeited to swoon when he showed me 
your handkercher ? 

Orlando* Ay, and greater wonders than 
that. 

Rosalind* O, I know where you are : nay, 
f t is true : there was never any thing so sud- 
den but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's 
thrasonical brag of ' I came, saw, and over- 
came : ' for your brother and my sister no 
sooner met but they looked; no sooner 
looked but they loved ; no sooner loved but 
they sighed; no sooner sighed but they 
asked one another the reason; no sooner 
knew the reason but they sought the rem- 
edy : and in these degrees have they made 
a pair of stairs to marriage which they will 
climb incontinent, or else be incontinent 
before marriage: they are in the very wrath 
of love and they will together ; clubs can- 
not part them. 

Orlando* They shall be married to-mor- 
row, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. 
But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into 
happiness through another man's eyes ! By 
so much the more shall I to-morrow be at 
the height of heart-heaviness, by how much 
I shall think my brother happy in having 
what he wishes for. 

1J5 



Rosalind* Why then, to-morrow I cannot 
serve your turn for Rosalind ? 
Orlando. I can live no longer by thinking. 
Rosalind* I will weary you then no longer 
with idle talking. Know of me then, for 
now I speak to some purpose, that I know 
you are a gentleman of good conceit: I 
speak not this that you should bear a good 
opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say 
I know you are ; neither do I labour for a 
greater esteem than may in some little 
measure draw a belief from you, to do 
yourself good and not to grace me. Be- 
lieve then, if you please, that I can do 
strange things : I have, since I was three 
year old, conversed with a magician, most 
profound in his art and yet rot damnable. 
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as 
your gesture cries it out, when your brother 
marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I 
know into what straits of fortune she is 
driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it 
appear not inconvenient to you, to set her 
before your eyes to-morrow human as she 
is and without any danger, 
Orlando. Speakest thou in sober mean- 
ings? 

Rosalind. By my life, I do ; which I tender 
dearly, though I say I am a magician. 
Therefore, put you in your best array ; bid 
your friends ; for if you will be married to- 
morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, if you 

will. 

U6 



<& 



Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a 
lover of hers* 

Phebe. Youth, you have done me much 
ungentleness. 

To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Rosalind. I care not if I have: it is my 
study 

To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: 

You are there followed by a faithful shep- 
herd; 

Look upon him, love him; he worships 

you* 
Phebe. Good shepherd, tell this youth 

what f t is to love. 
Silvias. It is to be all made of sighs and 

tears ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 
Phebe. And I for Ganymede. 
Orlando. And I for Rosalind. 
Rosalind. And I for no woman. 
Silvius. It is to be all made of faith and 

service ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 
Phebe. And I for Ganymede. 
Orlando. And I for Rosalind. 
Rosalind. And I for no woman. 
Silvius. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
3 Allmade of passion, and all made of wishes ; 
All adoration, duty, and observance, 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
All purity, all trial, all observance; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

JJ7 



~*of 



fe 



Phebe. And so am I for Ganymede. 
Orlando. And so am I for Rosalind. 
Rosalind. And so am I for no woman. 
Phebe. If this be so, why blame you me 

to love you ? 
Silvias. If this be so, why blame you me 

to love you ? 
Orlando. If this be so, why blame you me 

to love you ? 
Rosalind. Who do you speak to, * Why 
blame you me to love you ? ' 
Orlando. To her that is not here, nor doth 

not hear, 
Rosalind. Pray you, no more of this ; 't is 
like the howling of Irish wolves against the 
moon* [To Silvius.] I will help you, if I 
can: [To Phebe.~\ I would love you, if I 
could. To-morrow meet me all together. 
[To Phebe.~\ I will marry you, if ever I 
marry woman, and I '11 be married to-mor- 
row: [To Orlando.'] I will satisfy you, if 
ever I satisfied man, and you shall be mar- 
ried to-morrow : [To Silvias.] I will con- 
tent you, if what pleases you contents you, 
and you shall be married to-morrow* [ To 
Orlando.] As you love Rosalind, meet: 
[To Silvius.] as you love Phebe, meet: 
and as I love no woman, I '11 meet. So, 
fare you well : I have left you commands. 
Silvias. I '11 not fail, if I live. 
Phebe. Nor I. 
Orlando. Nor L 

[Exeunt, 
us 



-mm 





Scene III -the forest 



wm 



Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 

Touchstone. To-morrow is the joyful 

day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be 

married. 

Audrey. I do desire it with all my heart ; 

and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire 

to be a woman of the world. Here come 

two of the banished Duke's pages. 

Enter two PAGES. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touchstone. By my troth, well met. 

Come, sit, sit, and a song. 

Second Page. We are for you: sit i' the 

middle. 

First Page. Shall we clap into 't roundly, 

without hawking or spitting or saying we 

are hoarse, which are the only prologues to 

a bad voice ? 

Second Page. V faith, i' faith; and both 

in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. 

SONG 

It was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring 
time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

U9 



m 




m 



m 



. 



Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
These pretty country folks would lie, 

In spring time, &c. 

This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 

How that a life was but a flower 
In spring time, &c. 

And therefore take the present time, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

For love is crowned with the prime 
In spring time, &c. 

Touchstone, Truly, young gentlemen, 
though there was no great matter in the 
ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. 
First Page, You are deceived, sir: we 
kept time, we lost not our time. 
Touchstone, By my troth, yes ; I count it 
but time lost to hear such a foolish song. 
God be wi* you; and God mend your 
voices ! Come, Audrey. Exeunt, 



rj 



0*i 





Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, 

Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke Senior, Dost thou believe, Orlando, 

that the boy, 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 
Orlando, I sometimes do believe, and 

sometimes do not ; 

J20 







mm, 



As those that fear they hope, and know 

they f ear. 
Enter ROSALIND, SlLVIUS, and PHEBE. 
Rosalind* Patience once more, whiles our 

compact is urged : 
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 
Duke Senior* That would I, had I king- 
doms to give with her. 
Rosalind. And you say, you will have 

her, when I bring her. 
Orlando. That would I, were I of all king- 
doms king. 
Rosalind. You say, you '11 marry me, if I 

be willing ? 
Phebe. That will I, should I die the hour 

after. 
Rosalind. But if you do refuse to marry 

me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful 

shepherd ? 
Phebe. So is the bargain. 
Rosalind. You say, that you'll have 

Phebe, if she will ? 
Silvius. Though to have her and death 

were both one thing. 
Rosalind. I have promised to make all 

this matter even. 
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your 

daughter ; 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you '11 marry 

me, 

J2J 









Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd : 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you '11 marry 

her, 
If she refuse me : and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even. 

[Exeunt ROSALIND and CFHA. 
Duke Senior* I do remember in this 

shepherd boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's 

favour. 
Orlando. My lord, the first time that I 

ever saw him 
Methought he was a brother to your 

daughter : 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY* 
Jaques* There is, sure, another flood 
toward, and these couples are coming to 
the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange 
beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. 
Touchstone* Salutation and greeting to 
you all I 

/agues* Good my lord, bid him welcome: 
this is the motley-minded gentleman that I 
have so often met in the forest : he hath been 
a courtier, he swears. 

Touchstone* If any man doubt that, let 
him put me to my purgation. I have trod 
a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have 

122 



'Mt 



been politic with my friend, smooth with 
mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; 
I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
fought one* 

/agues* And how was that ta'en up ? 
Touchstone* Faith, we met, and found the 
quarrel was upon the seventh cause. 
Jaques* How seventh cause ? Good my 
lord, like this fellow. 
Duke Senior* I like him very well. 
Touchstone* God 'ild you, sir ; I desire 
you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst 
the rest of the country copulatives, to swear 
and to forswear; according as marriage 
binds and blood breaks : a poor virgin, sir, 
an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own ; a 
poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that 
no man else will : rich honesty dwells like 
a miser, sir, in a poor house ; as your pearl 
in your foul oyster. 

Duke Senior* By my faith, he is very 
swift and sententious. 

Touchstone* According to the fool's bolt, 
sir, and such dulcet diseases. 
Jaques* But, for the seventh cause ; how 
did you find the quarrel on the seventh 
cause ? 

Touchstone* Upon a lie seven times re- 
moved: — bear your body more seeming, 
Audrey: — as thus, sir. I did dislike the 
cut of a certain courtier's beard : he sent me 
word, if I said his beard was not cut well, 
he was in the mind it was : this is called the 

J23 



wm 



m 



Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 
* it was not well cut/ he would send me 
word, he cut it to please himself: this is 
called the Quip Modest. If again ' it was 
not well cut/ he disabled my judgment : this 
is called the Reply Churlish. If again ' it 
was not well cut/ he would answer, I spake 
not true : this is called the Reproof Valiant. 
If again ' it was not well cut/ he would say, 
I lie : this is called the Countercheck Quar- 
relsome : and so to the Lie Circumstantial 
and the Lie Direct. 

Jaques. And how oft did you say his beard 
was not well cut ? 

Touchstone. I durst go no further than the 
Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give 
me the Lie Direct; and so we measured 
swords and parted* 

Jaques. Can you nominate in order now 
the degrees of the lie ? 
Touchstone. O sir, we quarrel in print, by 
the book ; as you have books for good man- 
ners : I will name you the degrees. The 
first, the Retort Courteous ; the second, the 
Quip Modest ; the third, the Reply Churlish ; 
the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the 
Countercheck Quarrelsome ; the sixth, the 
Lie with Circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie 
Direct. All these you may avoid but the 
Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, 
with an If. I knew when seven justices 
could not take up a quarrel, but when the 
parties were met themselves, one of them 

124 




Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in woman's clothes, and Celia. 




SB 



thought but of an If, as, ' If you said so, then 
I said so ; ' and they shook hands and swore 
brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker ; 
much virtue in If. 

Jaques* Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? 
he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. 
Duke Senior* He uses his folly like a stalk- 
ing-horse and under the presentation of that 
he shoots his wit. 

Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. 

Still Music. 

Hymen* Then is there mirth in heaven, 
When earthly things made even 

Atone together. 
Good Duke, receive thy daughter : 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hither, 
That thou mightst join her hand with his 
Whose heart within his bosom is. 
Rosalind* To you I give myself, for I am 
yours. 
To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
Duke Senior* If there be truth in sight, 

you are my daughter. 
Orlando* If there be truth in sight, you are 

my Rosalind. 
Phebe* If sight and shape be true, 

Why then, my love adieu ! 
Rosalind* I '11 have no father, if you be not 

he: 
I '11 have no husband, if you be not he : 
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 

125 



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Hymen* Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
'T is I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events : 
Here f s eight that must take hands 
To join in Hymen's bands, 

If truth holds true contents. 

You and you no cross shall part : 

You and you are heart in heart : 

You to his love must accord, 

Or have a woman to your lord : 

You and you are sure together, 

As the winter to foul weather. 

Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, 

Feed yourselves with questioning ; 

That reason wonder may diminish, 

How thus we met, and these things finish. 

SONG 

Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 

O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'T is Hymen peoples every town ; 

High wedlock then be honoured : 
Honour, high honour, and renown, 
To Hymen, god of every town ! 

Duke Senior, O my dear niece, welcome 

thou art to me ! 
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. 
Phebe. I will not eat my word, now thou 

art mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
Enter JAQUES DE BOYS. 
Jaques de Boys, Let me have audience for 

a word or two : 

126 



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I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair as- 
sembly. 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every- 
day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Addressed a mighty power ; which were on 

foot, 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
Where meeting with an old religious man, 
After some question with him, was con- 
verted 
Both from his enterprise and from the 

world ; 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd 

brother, 
And all their lands restored to them again 
That were with him exiled. This to be 

true, 
I do engage my life. 
Duke Senior* Welcome, young man ; 
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wed- 
ding: 
To one his lands withheld ; and to the other 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest let us do those ends 
That here were well begun and well begot : 
And after, every of this happy number, 
That have endured shrewd days and nights 

with us, 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 

J27 



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According to the measure of their states. 

Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity, 

And fall into our rustic revelry. 

Play, music! And you, brides and bride- 
grooms all, 

With measure heap'd in joy, to the meas- 
ures fall. 

Jaques. Sir, by your patience. If I heard 
you rightly, 

The Duke hath put on a religious life 

And thrown into neglect the pompous 
court ? 

Jaques de Boys. He hath. 

Jaques. To him will I : out of these con- 
vertities 

There is much matter to be heard and 
learn'd. 

[To Duke Senior.'] You to your former 
honour I bequeath; 

Your patience and your virtue well de- 
serves it : 

[To Orlando."] You to a love, that your 
true faith doth merit : 

[To Oliver.] You to your land, and love, 
and great allies : 

[To Silvius.] You to a long and well-de- 
served bed : 

[To Touchstone.] And you to wrang- 
ling ; for thy loving voyage 

Is but for two months victualed. So, to 
your pleasures : 

I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke Senior. Stay, Jaques, stay, 

J28 



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Jaques* To sec no pastime I : what you 

would have 
I '11 stay to know at your abandoned cave. 

Exit 
Duke Senior. Proceed, proceed : we will 

begin these rites, 
As we do trust they '11 end, in true delights, 

[A dance. 



Rosalind* It is not the fashion to see the 
lady the epilogue; but it is no more un- 
handsome than to see the lord the prologue. 
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 
't is true that a good play needs no epilogue : 
yet to good wine they do use good bushes ; 
and good plays prove the better by the help 
of good epilogues. What a case am I in 
then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor 
cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a 
good play! I am not furnished like a 
beggar, therefore to beg will not become 
me : my way is to conjure you ; and I '11 
begin with the women. I charge you, O 
women, for the love you bear to men, to 
like as much of this play as please you: 
and I charge you, O men, for the love you 
bear to women, — as I perceive by your 
simpering, none of you hates them, — that 
between you and the women the play may 
please. If I were a woman I would kiss as 

J29 




many of you as had beards that pleased me, 
complexions that liked me and breaths that 
I defied not : and, I am sure, as many as 
have good beards or good faces or sweet 
breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make 
curtsy, bid me farewell. 

Exeunt 




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